


Dynasty

by MrsJohnReese



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsJohnReese/pseuds/MrsJohnReese
Summary: After Voldemort's defeat at the hands of a mere infant, Aurora Black found herself faced with both terrible loss, and a promising new chance for healing, as well. Sent to watch over Harry Potter while under the care of his aunt and uncle, she will find more comfort than she believed to be possible, just as she finds herself brought face to face with someone she believed to be dead.
Relationships: Bartemius Crouch Jr./Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	1. A New Beginning

"I can't do this," The girl declared, silently cursing the wavering of her voice as she said the words, while one hand gripped the back of the chair she stood behind so tightly that the skin of her knuckles turned white in protest, "I really can't."

"Actually, my dear, I do believe you can."

Whirling to face the man in response to the unwelcome words, and fixing the speaker with a glare that was normally reserved solely for her brothers, Aurora found herself rendered speechless in spite of her rather fervent desire to say something—anything—that might contradict the utter certainty that was so apparent in her companion's expression. But no matter how fiercely that desire gripped her, she found herself only capable of opening her mouth, closing it, and opening it once again, her entire body trembling with suppressed rage as she was forced to simply listen while the man stood near the fireplace spoke once again.

"Oftentimes, I have found that the moments in which I am least convinced of my ability to do a thing are in fact the very moments where I stand the highest chance of success."

"Not this time," The young woman protested, her fingers curling into fists and digging little half-crescent shapes in the soft skin of her palm as she struggled to maintain as much decorum as she could, given the company she kept, "I've—we have all lost too much, already."

"And we will lose far more if we do not act now," The old man persisted, aware of the dim flash of fire in his younger companion's eyes, though he chose to ignore it in favor of going on, "I know you are hurting, Aurora."

"Do you?"

"I do."

"You have a bloody terrible way of showing it," Aurora spat, somehow even more upset in light of the fact that her retort appeared to have next to no impact upon the man she was seeking to dissuade. Everyone she cared for—practically everyone she knew, for that matter, was either dead, on the run, or imprisoned. And although the mere thought of such a reality had a lump forming in her throat, the young woman did what she could to squash it down, a sharp breath escaping through her nose as she realized the man standing before her had now deigned to approach, one slow, measured step at a time.

"Have you ever once considered that it is precisely because of your pain that I am giving you this chance?"

"What chance? The Dark Lord is dead—"

"And yet, the threat to the boy still grows," Her companion informed, his tone taking on a gentler cast as he drew nearer to her still trembling frame, and fixed her with familiar, dazzling blue eyes that held both empathy, and a strange sense of determination in equal measure, "He will need protection. Who better to provide it, than you?"

"I can think of any number of likely persons."

"And I, by contrast, cannot."

"Why?" Aurora demanded, flinching against the bitterness in her own voice, and wetting her lips with her tongue before going on, "Why can't you see anyone else far better suited for this task than I?"

"Because you are a magnificently gifted witch. A dedicated Auror, and perhaps the only one with enough connection to the boy to render your devotion to this task absolute."

"Is this how I am to pay for my family's sins, then? By protecting the boy when the rest of them betrayed him, and his parents as well?"

"I would never hold you responsible for the actions of your relatives, Aurora. I only seek to give you a measure of peace after all that you have endured," The man assured, knowing that his words could do nothing to calm the woman now, and yet still holding onto the hope that eventually, she would see that this was the only way, "The boy will need a friend, as well as a protector, where he is going—"

"And I am to function as both."

"If you consent, yes. You will function as both. And I daresay that both you, and your young charge will benefit greatly as a result."

Remaining silent in lieu of yet another acidic reply, Aurora opted instead for actually giving the suggestion at hand some thought, her lips pursing into a frown as she stowed both hands inside her pants pockets to alleviate the stinging pain her fingernails had left in her palms. She wanted to scream—to cry—to blast everything nearby into smithereens to give evidence to the nearly crippling grief that threatened to paralyze her, even now, where she stood. But regardless of all of that, she also knew that doing so would only delay the inevitable acceptance of all of that pain and sorrow, rather than do her any good—

Her companion was right. She needed something that would aid her in pulling herself together in the wake of unspeakable tragedy, and inasmuch as she did not want to admit it, perhaps some time away from everything that was familiar was the first step she would require to do exactly that.

"If I do this—if I give you my consent—do I have your word that you will keep me appraised of anything of importance in our world, as well?" Aurora began, surprised at the sudden determination that had become so apparent in her tone, where only moments before, it had been laced with anger and despair, "If you need me elsewhere, I want to be of aid. I don't want to—to be—"

"You will not be left out, Aurora. You have my word," The man promised, pleased that his assurance appeared to have allowed for a slight relaxation in the young woman's stance, her entire body seeming to sag just a bit in relief that she would, in fact, be called upon if the situation required, "But I encourage you to use this time apart for healing, as well as ensuring the boy's safety. And I trust you will enlighten me of your progress, along the way."

Only able to manage a nod in response to the sudden request, Aurora found herself once again rendered speechless in the wake of her companion's enigmatic smile, his blue eyes twinkling once more as he retreated from her a few paces before disapparating on the spot. It was clear that he had taken her agreement as reason enough to be on his way, without hope of further explanation or instruction. And, in spite of the fact that her grief was by no means assuaged, Aurora found that she was completely incapable of resisting the slight tug of a smile at the corners of her lips, a sigh escaping as she took the liberty of moving towards the fireplace, herself, her eyes almost eagerly seeking out the flickering of the flames as she did her best to settle her thoughts towards the upcoming task at hand.

It appeared she would be venturing from her home on the morrow, and travelling to Little Whinging to begin life anew…

She could only hope that she would prove up to the task.

…


	2. Haunted Dreams

(1 September, 1973)

"Aurora, stop dawdling, you silly girl! We cannot be late!" Walburga Black admonished her daughter, casting a scathing glance back over her shoulder to assure herself that the eleven-year-old was scurrying along dutifully in her wake in response to her words. She had been out of sorts these last few weeks, Walburga had noted, more often than not spending time spirited away in her room, while the rest of the family spent time together. And although she had not entirely made a good faith attempt to determine what it was that so troubled her youngest child and only daughter, Walburga suspected that she already knew.

It was fear, pure and simple, and the matriarch of the Black family felt that perhaps by refusing to acknowledge it, the disgraceful notion would simply disappear.

The same desire to ignore the girl's apparent unease had not, obviously, affected her two sons, the worried glances Regulus kept throwing his sister's way as he walked along beside his mother only just a bit less distracting than Sirius' rather persistent frown. Of course, the matriarch could appreciate the bond between the three siblings, Aurora more often than not serving as a sort of bridge between two brothers that otherwise may have never spoken at all. But with their family endeavoring to arrive at King's Cross Station with enough time to secure decent seats aboard the train for their three young children, Walburga found she did not have the patience for any sort of delay, even if it came at the expense of the bonds between her children.

As if he sensed the thought that had crossed his mother's mind, and sought to defy her even though no order had been expressly spoken, Sirius fell behind just enough to render himself capable of walking along at Aurora's side, an arm looping around the girl's thin shoulders so that he could draw her against his side. Walburga could not hear the hushed words spoken between the two of them. She could not tell whether her eldest was helping the situation, or harming it. But soon, another glance over her shoulder showed her that Aurora and Sirius were laughing together, just as a look at her middle child showed he had adopted a scowl in response to the sound. And, deciding that she had suffered enough of this sort of nonsense, Walburga Black sped her steps forward, the shrill whistling of the Hogwarts Express reaching her ears while one hand fell to Regulus' shoulder to guide him forward in time with her renewed order to her other children moving behind her.

"Hurry along, now. There is no time to waste."

As their mother moved along ahead of them, Sirius persisted in keeping Aurora at his side just a few steps behind, shaggy hair falling in front of his eyes as he glanced at his little sister once again, and found that her laughter had already begun to fade. In truth, her confession had troubled him, though he knew very well exactly why she felt the way that she did, given their family's reception of his own sorting into Gryffindor house. But as a soon to be third year student at Hogwarts, and having always been a very confident boy, Sirius felt that he could cheer his little sister up in good order once more, even despite the covert looks Regulus kept darting their way in regular intervals.

"You can't mean to tell me you'd hate it," Sirius began, using his hold upon Aurora's shoulders to squeeze her closer still so that they could pass through a rather tightly knit throng of wizarding families gathered close to the train to watch it depart, "We'd be in the same house, Rory."

"But Mama would be disappointed I'm not with Reg."

"Who cares? Might be nice, having some company as the family disappointment."

"That's not funny, Sirius," Aurora mumbled, ducking her head down to stare at the concrete beneath her feet while she continued to allow her oldest brother to tug her along towards the train. The past summer, she had been almost constantly plagued by curiosity and fear over which house she would be sorted into at Hogwarts, half hoping she could be with Sirius, as he so dearly seemed to wish himself, and half hoping she could avoid her parents' disappointment over not being placed in Slytherin, instead. But as the end of the holiday drew near, and preparations were underway for not only the return of her brothers, but her own arrival at the historic school, as well, Aurora had found herself more and more incapable of hiding her growing apprehension, even in the face of her mother's firm insistence that she had nothing to fear.

"You are a Black, Aurora. You, and your brothers, have a duty to uphold the honor of our house for generations to come."

As the familiar words echoed persistently in her mind, Aurora found that it was nearly impossible to continue moving forward at her brother's side, her teeth taking up the act of chewing at the inside of her cheek while she slowly came to a stop. Her eyes still remained firmly fixed upon her feet, in spite of the fact that she could feel the weight of Sirius' gaze on her smaller frame. But she knew as well as anyone that it could never be said that her brother would allow anyone to remain in a dour mood in his presence, and so she was not at all surprised when she felt his forefinger tuck itself beneath her chin, her hazel eyes meeting his grey ones for just the briefest of moments in silence before he spoke.

"Come on, Rory—give us a smile."

"Why?"

"Because I happen to think you've got a very pretty smile," Sirius explained, secretly pleased with himself as he took in the reluctant twitch at the corner of his little sister's mouth and gave himself all of the credit for its existence in the first place, "And because I know for a fact my friends are going to love you."

"They won't if I'm in Slytherin."

"Says who? You're my sister. That's definitely going to be enough for anyone that matters."

"How can you be so sure? How can you know they won't hate me on principle?" Aurora pressed, hating the trembling that had taken over not only her voice, but her body as well, though she was still capable of finding some comfort in the automatic reality of her brother's embrace, "Sirius, if I'm in Slytherin, everyone will hate me, and if I'm not, Mama and Papa will be—they'll be angry."

"And if anyone is nasty to you, no matter what house you're in, they're going to have to face me. You know that," Sirius replied, pulling back from the embrace just enough to reach out a hand and tuck a stray dark curl behind Aurora's ear before going on, "So what's say we forget all this worry and try to figure out a decent prank to play while on the train, eh?"

"Aren't you worried you'll lose points before term even begins?" Aurora inquired, unable to entirely stop the small smile from appearing upon her lips as the familiar mischievous grin she loved so much spread across her brother's face in response before he shook his head and replied in the negative.

"I'm not worried. Not so long as you're in it with me."

It seemed, at least for the moment, that Aurora's troubles had been forgotten, in favor of joining her brother in whatever madness he had already planned…

…

Aurora stood in the Great Hall amongst a clump of other apprehensive-looking first years, her hands curled into fists at her sides as she tried to will herself to breathe. Sirius had indeed managed to distract her from the Sorting Ceremony, dragging her towards a compartment that was already partially filled with his friends almost as soon as they had boarded the train. Dimly, she could recall wondering where Regulus was, as she hadn't wanted him to be left out. But now that she stood beside her peers, all thought of remaining calm seemed to have fled from her mind, every muscle she possessed trembling as though someone held her in the throes of a powerful curse.

She was so lost inside her own thoughts that she had hardly noticed the wondrous vaulted ceiling, each of the candles that bobbed in mid-air with a tiny flickering flame at the top only drawing her eyes for a moment, before they were fixed once again upon her feet. In truth, she had hardly even heard Professor McGonagall's welcoming speech, the sound of the older woman's voice only barely registering at the back of her mind as she bit at the inside of her cheek in a concentrated effort to keep the sting of tears in her eyes at bay. But before she could get a handle on her seemingly tremulous emotions, Aurora soon found herself jumping in surprise at the sudden sensation of a shoulder brushing against her own, her hazel eyes snapping towards the source of the feeling, only to find herself face to face with a pale boy that was just an inch or two taller than she was, with a dusting of freckles upon his nose.

"Hello," The boy said simply, amber eyes appraising the girl he had approached with obvious curiosity while he pushed at a shock of blondish brown hair that had fallen over his brow, "Are you alright?"

"Fine."

"You don't look it."

"Well I am," Aurora insisted, her brow furrowing as she realized her newfound companion remained unconvinced, though that was not entirely sufficient to prevent a tentative smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth, regardless, "Something funny?"

"No. No!" The boy hastened to reply, his cheeks almost immediately turning a rather rosy shade of pink as his eyes widened, and he shook his head vehemently as though to give further proof as to his intentions, "I just—you don't look as though you're feeling at all well."

"I'm just—I'm nervous, that's all."

"What, about the sorting?"

"Yeah."

"What house do you want to be in?"

"I—I don't know," Aurora confessed, startled at her ability to admit to such a thing before a practical stranger, when he had not even offered up his name, and yet finding herself somehow powerless to avoid elaborating further in response to the curious light that had dawned in his eyes, "My family has always been in Slytherin, but—"

"But you don't know if you want to be?"

"I don't."

"Why not?" The boy inquired, stepping just a bit closer to Aurora so they might carry on their conversation while hopefully avoiding attracting the attention of the stern-faced Professor McGonagall, in the process, "Loads of great witches and wizards have been in Slytherin."

"I know, but—everyone thinks people in that house are evil."

"I don't."

"Why not?"

"Just—just because, I suppose."

"That's not a convincing reason," Aurora said, somehow finding it within her to summon a faint smile as she realized the boy appeared to have started to shrink away from her as soon as he heard her reply, "What—what house do you want to be in, then?"

"S—Slytherin."

"Well I guess I must be wrong, then. If they let you in, they can't be all that bad," Aurora encouraged, surprised at her seemingly instinctive need to provide the boy at her side with some reason to believe his desires were not as suspect as his own hesitation seemed to believe. Something told her that his confession would not have been a welcome one to his own family. That, in fact, if he had made such a statement at home, it might have gone over about as well as if she had told her mother she wished to be placed in Hufflepuff at the start of term. And although she could not entirely understand why such a supposition had come into her mind, Aurora managed yet another smile for the boy's benefit, her attention straying towards Professor McGonagall as she unrolled the parchment she held in her hands, and began to read names aloud.

"Abbott, Devin."

As the aforenamed boy stumbled up the steps to the raised platform upon which a derelict old hat could be seen perched upon a stool, Aurora leaned over to the boy standing beside her once more, her tone hushed but hopefully no less encouraging as she took the liberty of introducing herself to what she believed to be a newfound friend.

"I'm Aurora. Aurora Black."

"Barty Crouch," The boy replied, the flicker of distaste in his eyes provoking Aurora's curiosity, though she never had the chance to inquire as to its source as he was already speaking once more, "Named after my dad."

"You don't like him?"

"He's the one that hates Slytherin. My mum—she wouldn't care where I was placed, so long as I was happy."

"My mum wants me in Slytherin," Aurora admitted, pausing for just long enough to hear the name 'Anderson, Albus' echo across the hall, and fighting back a jolt of dread as she realized her name was likely not long in coming, as well, "But my older brother thinks it should be Gryffindor."

"You have a brother in Gryffindor?"

"And in Slytherin. I think I'm going to end up being the tie-breaker."

"I wish that I had siblings," Barty began, a dreamy look taking root in his eyes, even in spite of Aurora's almost immediate look of skeptical intrigue, "Might not be so lonely."

"Sometimes it still is."

It was apparent that the boy wanted to question Aurora about her curious statement, though he would not get the chance, at least not then, the sharp sound of Professor McGonagall's voice ringing through the hall once again forcing the pair's attention back to the goings on at hand. Aurora could see the boy—Albus Anderson—scurrying back down the stairs, and heading towards the table of fellow Hufflepuffs. And as though her earlier suspicion had provoked it of its own accord, the girl found herself freezing in place as McGonagall glanced down at the parchment once more, her expression unreadable as yet another name passed her lips.

"Black, Aurora."

With her heart in her throat, Aurora slowly ascended the stairs, keenly aware of Professor McGonagall's eyes following her every move as she turned to face the hall at large, and scrambled up onto the stool with trembling limbs. This was it. A moment she had simultaneously yearned for and dreaded with every fiber of her being. Instinct prompted her to scan the hall, though she did not have the chance to decide whether to seek out Sirius or Regulus before the brim of the hat sank down over her eyes. And in spite of the fact that she could feel her stomach roiling as though it had suddenly been inhabited by a swarm of angry hornets, Aurora forced herself to remain painstakingly still, her fingers digging into the base of the stool she sat upon so fervently she feared she might leave half-crescent markings in the underside due to the pressure applied by her fingernails.

"Ah, another Black," The hat mused aloud, the sudden sound of its voice causing Aurora to jump, and very nearly fall off the stool in her shock, "But what to do with this one? She's brave—reckless, I'll give her that. But there's cunning, too, and a thirst to be worthy of the parents who gave her their name. Hmm…"

As the hat ruminated over her fate, Aurora remained rigid upon the stool, her tiny body trembling as though awaiting execution, and not a simple sorting. She still did not know where she wanted to be—where she would truly belong, no matter how she wracked her brain to discover the answer. But before she could make any headway in finding one that was forthcoming, the girl felt herself jumping once again at the sudden cackle coming from the hat's open mouth, her teeth gritting in apprehension while she awaited the decision it had so clearly come to on her behalf.

"Better be Slytherin!" It called, the declaration having been met with raucous applause from the table beneath the green and silver banners, and slightly less enthusiastic responses from the other houses in their own seats. As soon as the Sorting Hat had been removed from her head, Aurora hopped down from the stool, her feet carrying her towards the Slytherin table almost of their own accord. She could not bear to find Sirius, now, knowing full-well the disappointment he would surely feel at not having her in Gryffindor, along with him. And so, she forced herself to make the trek towards her new house as quickly as she could, relief flooding her body as she recognized Regulus nudging another fellow second-year to the side so that she could sit beside him on the bench while McGonagall called out yet another name.

"Crouch, Bartemius."

Sparing a faint smile for her brother's benefit, before turning with rapt attention towards the front of the hall once more, Aurora watched with anticipation as the boy she had been talking to before walked up the stairs, hands clenched into fists at his side while his lips moved soundlessly as though in some sort of fervent prayer. While he perched upon the stool and McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat atop his head, those movements never ceased, though Aurora was soon distracted by the sudden sharp stinging in her chest that came about as a result of being so absorbed in the boy's actions that she had forgotten to breathe. While air rushed into her greedy lungs, and she became aware of the gentle pressure of Regulus' hand coming to rest upon her back, Aurora also realized that she had missed the majority of what the hat was saying to its new charge, her brow furrowing just a bit in consternation before she heard the final proclamation that would bring her more relief than she could fully understand.

"Slytherin!"

Clapping along with her fellow housemates, Aurora turned and nudged Regulus to persuade him to move down the bench so that Barty could take a seat on her other side, her lingering misgivings about her house for the moment forgotten, in favor of meeting the boy's wide grin as he hurried over to her side. His shoulder bumped against her own as he took his seat, while yet another student was called forward to be sorted, themselves. And although she knew that this was only the beginning of her journey, and that she still had to face her other brother in Gryffindor, without knowing if his disappointment would overshadow the encouraging words he had spoken earlier before getting on the train, Aurora did what she could to cast those trepidations aside in favor of turning her attention toward the feast at hand.

After all, it seemed she still had one brother at her side, and had just made a new friend, as well.

…

(London, 1981)

Aurora woke with a start, and a hand placed upon the column of her throat, her heart jackhammering against the cage of her ribs while the fingers of her free hand dug into the fabric of the duvet beneath them. Great heaving breaths forced her shoulders to move up and down, while the small voice at the back of her mind chastised her for being so worked up over a simple dream. But try though she might to settle herself, it seemed that she was entirely incapable of easing her temporary panic, her teeth coming out to worry at her lower lip as she clawed at the bedsheets until she had successfully freed her legs, and was thus capable of swinging them over the edge of the bed to place them flat upon the floor.

She had not dreamed of—him—since she had left Hogwarts, and they had gone their separate ways, and she did not welcome the heartache brought about by thinking of exactly how they had parted any more now, than she had then.

Forcing herself to stand, if for no other reason than to clear her mind, the young woman strode towards the door of her bedroom, and exited into the drafty hallway beyond. Her footsteps carried her towards the end of the hall that was opposite the rickety staircase that led to the main floor of Grimmauld Place, her movements as silent as she could make them in order to avoid waking the portrait down below. Before she fully realized exactly where it was she was going, Aurora was stood before a familiar doorway, the placard nailed to its surface chipped by time, but no less unreadable than it had been the day it was hung.

Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black.

Without a second thought, Aurora entered the room with a simple nudge of her hand at the door, the soft creak the wood gave in response hardly registering as she stepped inside, and shut the door once again in her wake. A glance around showed the room to be in much the same state as it had been when she had come to visit her brother as a girl, though there was a significant increase in the amount of dust littering every surface, and spiraling around in the wake of her movements, as well. Already, a strange, choking sensation had formed at the base of her throat, though she did what she could to ignore it in favor of heading towards the bed still decked in shades of green and silver, instead. Within moments, Aurora found herself perching upon its edge, her hands moving out at her sides to nudge aside some of the stray books that remained upon the faded duvet.

She had come to this room often, as a small child, and even more so after her first years at Hogwarts, whenever she needed advice on one thing or another, and she supposed, albeit reluctantly, that that was why she was here, now, in spite of the absence of the one person she had always known she could trust.

"What do I do, Reg? I don't know what to do," She murmured, running her hands over the fabric beneath her frame, and swallowing against the growing constriction that was making itself known in her throat and chest. Her breath was coming faster and faster, in response, at least for the moment remaining capable of inching past the burning vice of her throat to enter her lungs. And so, even with the dust fluttering in motes about her head, Aurora remained where she was, her hazel eyes darting about the room as though at any moment, Regulus would materialize, and tell her what she so clearly wished to hear.

Dumbledore had given her an impossible task, it seemed, though even in the face of her doubts, Aurora knew she could hardly turn him down. He wished for her to watch over the boy. Harry Potter. A child that had already been forced to witness such unspeakable horror it made her heart ache just to think of it. She was to keep her distance, waiting for him to come to her, if he ever did at all, but to protect him should the need ever arise. And although the wise old man had reassured her, more than once, that this task was not a punishment for her family's transgressions—for her eldest brother's seeming betrayal—Aurora would have been a fool to pretend that it had nothing to do with it at all.

The fact that she wanted—no, craved—that opportunity for redemption terrified her, every bit as much as it gave her hope for some way to forget all of her pain in bits and pieces along the way.

Shivering in response to the sudden thought, Aurora once again began to allow her eyes to stray to various objects about the room, her chest still rising and falling in rapid succession as she took in the posters and photographs still arrayed upon the walls. Old Quidditch posters—a photograph of herself and Regulus stood side by side in uniform her first year on the Slytherin team—even a few old newspaper clippings met her gaze, the memories inherent in each and every one causing tears to prick at the corners of her eyes. Somehow, she could still hear her brother's laughter as they sat together upon the floor all those years ago, heads bowed together as they discussed new strategies for the coming Quidditch season. She could see the sparkle in his eyes as he conjured bats from the tip of his wand and charmed them to fly around her head in the wake of her own shrieks of laughter. She could even recall the firm set of his jaw when she found him after he had stumbled upon her and Barty where they were sequestered behind a hedge on the back lawn desiring more privacy than they could ever find inside the house. And before she could fully stop it, the memory of that particular day came flooding back, her fingers curling into fists at her side while her dead brother's voice echoed in her mind.

"What the bloody hell are you thinking, Ro? With him, of all people—"

"He's not that bad, Reg!"

"Then you're blind. Does Sirius know about this—infatuation?"

"No, he doesn't. And you're not going to tell him."

"Like hell," Reg had disagreed, moving to shove past his sister so that he could head towards his bedroom door, a muscle in his jaw jumping every couple of moments as he moved, "Crouch is unhinged, everyone knows it. And I'll be damned if I let my little sister—"

"If you'll let me?" Aurora hissed, hazel eyes flashing fire as she moved to step in front of Regulus just before he reached the bedroom door, "You're daft if you think you can order me around, Reg. I'm not a house elf!"

"You're right. They clearly have more sense."

In response to the retort, Aurora had been absolutely desperate to do whatever she could to stop her brother from going off in search of Sirius, knowing that if he heard one word of her interlude with Barty on the lawn, he'd head off to his house straight away to hex him into oblivion. Hovering over her whenever any boy got too close appeared to have become a sort of uniting force for the two brothers who more often than not did not see eye to eye. And the desire to avoid anything untoward befalling a boy who she as yet had not entirely sorted out her feelings toward, along with the undeniable pain that came about as a result of her brother's accusation seemed to push her already tenuous emotions to a boiling point, a low whimper escaping as she forced her hands out in an attempt to stop Regulus from pushing past her once again, only to find that the effort somehow managed to propel him backwards until he landed, splayed, upon the duvet on his bed.

Panic clawed its way up Aurora's throat as a sharp gasp forced her from the world of the memory, and back to the present at last, a cold sweat forming upon her brow as she stood from the edge of Regulus' bed and stumbled a bit in the wake of the dizziness that wracked her frame in response to the sudden movement. She could hardly breathe, now, one hand clutching at her chest as her mind struggled to reconcile the empty bed behind her with the one that had been etched so sharply into her brain that she half-expected Regulus to still be upon it, eyes wide with shock in the wake of her unexpected attack. It was as though her mind sought to mock her, throwing every single person she had ever loved and lost into her face until she either blocked her past out entirely, or went insane from the pain of it all. And then it happened. A simple twitch of her hands—a deafening roar in her ears—and she opened her eyes to find herself still standing in the middle of her brother's old room, the books and photographs that had been spread in haphazard intervals now scattered about the edges of the room amongst the shattered glass that no longer resided in smooth panes between their frames.

It was happening again…

…


	3. The Awakening

(London, 1981)

"You are leaving."

"I am," Aurora confirmed, failing to entirely suppress the jolt that passed through her exhausted frame at the sound of the voice, and turning to face its source with as much courage as she could pull together, "I have to. There—there is no place for me, here."

"This is your family home. Your legacy, now that your brothers are gone."

"I do not want it, Mother."

"What do you want?" The older woman demanded, acidity seeping into her words as she eyed her daughter from her position leant against the doorframe of her youngest son's bedroom, "Merlin knows nothing I have ever provided for you has been good enough."

"That's not what this is about—"

"Is it not? Since your husband died, you have been doing everything in your power to prove your distaste for everything your father and I ever did for you."

"I did what I did to help those who needed it. It had nothing to do with you, or father," Aurora denied, her fingers curling into fists in an effort to quell the trembling that had begun to take root in every muscle she possessed despite the fact that she knew it would do her no good, "Just as I am doing so, now."

"By doing what, Aurora? Your place is here."

"It's not."

"It is!" Walburga persisted, straightening from the doorframe, and approaching her daughter far faster than Aurora might have thought her capable, so that her thin fingers could encircle themselves around her daughter's wrist, "You cannot leave me here alone."

"I must. I—someone needs me."

"Who could need you more than your own mother?"

"An innocent baby," Aurora hissed, tugging her arm free of her mother's grasp, and managing a step back even in the wake of the look of utter disgust that passed across Walburga's features in response, "I need—I need this."

"Always you persist in thinking of yourself. Your father is dead. Your husband is dead," Walburga pressed, stepping to within an inch of her daughter once more, despite the fact that the younger woman had flinched in response to the approach, "Does family mean nothing to you?"

"Look at what our family has become! You and I are the only ones left, and we—"

"We are what? Say it, girl."

"We are broken. Reg is dead, and Sirius—" Aurora began, hating how her voice cracked at the mention of her eldest brother's name, and doing her best to ignore how the trembling that had plagued her as soon as her mother had confronted her had only gotten worse as she forced herself to go on, "There is nothing left for us. Nothing."

"We can rebuild—"

"How, Mum? How? By selling ourselves to the highest bidder in hopes that either one of us might produce an heir? I won't do that. I can't."

"You are still young. There is still time to find another suitable match."

"Any and all hope I had of finding a match is gone, now. There's no one left that I want."

"This is not about what you want, girl!" Walburga criticized, ignoring her daughter's affronted expression, and hurrying to carry on before the younger woman could protest, "You have a duty to your family."

"What family? Everyone who matters is either dead, or imprisoned!"

"So, there is nothing I can do to keep you from turning your back on me. Nothing at all."

"Nothing," Aurora confirmed, pushing past her mother and heading towards the door so that she could begin the task of gathering her things in preparation of her departure just two days hence, "I need to pack."

"Don't think for one second that I don't know what happened, here," The older woman said suddenly, a muscle in her jaw jumping as she watched Aurora freeze in the doorframe of Regulus' bedroom, her shoulders going taut with a sudden unease that elicited a strange sense of pleasure in her mother, despite her knowing that provoking Aurora now may not, in fact, be the wisest course, "It's happening again, isn't it?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, I think you do. You cannot control this on your own, Aurora."

"I can and I will."

"Then I suspect it will only be a matter of time before what happens last time transpires again."

"I fail to see how that concerns you, as I will not be here when it does," Aurora managed, fighting equal parts dread, and frustration as she forced herself to turn back from the hall to face her mother directly, "I am not your burden anymore, Mum."

"You will not do well on your own. You never did," Walburga declared, watching as Aurora turned away from her once more, the slight flexing of her shoulder muscles belying the turmoil that she so clearly felt in response to her words, "Yet you still intend to leave."

"I do," Aurora confirmed, forcing herself to continue moving down the hall, and back towards her own bedroom in order to finish the task she had set to herself in hopes of both encouragement and distraction, though she did falter just a bit in her movements in response to her mother's final decree.

"If you set your feet outside that door, my dear, you may not find a ready welcome upon your return. You would be wise to consider that, before you depart."

"I have considered it. And I am leaving."

"Then on your own head be it, Aurora, if things go ill," Walburga declared, watching as her daughter disappeared into her own bedroom, and straightening in response to the soft snap the door gave as it closed in her wake, "On your own head be it."

…

Aurora stood on the sidewalk before what was to be her home for the foreseeable future, her lips pursed into a frown despite knowing that this decision was, perhaps, for the best. In truth, a part of her still could not fathom staying here alone, and amongst Muggles, no less, without hope of much interaction with her kind for years to come. She could see the benefits, of course, given the sharp turn her life had taken in the last few months, alone. But in spite of that awareness, Aurora was also poignantly aware of the inherent isolation that was to come along with her newfound position, and it was for that reason that she found a sigh escaping as she reached toward the trunk that was resting upon the sidewalk at her feet, a look of grim determination crossing her features as she moved toward the landing, and reached for the key that was stored securely inside her jacket pocket at the same time.

"Here we go," She murmured, casting one final glance around the other houses on Privet Drive, and marveling at how their nearly identical appearances only gave further proof to the inherent desire most Muggles seemed to possess for order. It had always amazed her that anyone could find satisfaction in such a thing when she herself had always held a certain wonder for the very things that set each person she came across apart from one another. But whether her own personal preference would allow her to be content in a place like this, or not, Aurora knew very well that she did not have a choice, her shoulders squaring as she finally succeeded in fishing the key from her jacket pocket, and unlocking the front door, her eyes roaming around the small foyer she entered for a moment before she was closing and locking the door behind her once more.

As she moved off towards what was likely the den, after reaching her hand out to flick the light switch along the way, Aurora abandoned her trunk and focused upon getting to know her new home, instead, a slight furrow marring her brow as she was brought face to face with the obvious differences between it, and Grimmauld Place. Where her childhood home had always seemed to have a knack for remaining dark and drear no matter how many curtains were thrown open to let in the light, this place gave the impression that she would be hard-pressed to keep the sunlight away. The den, in particular, possessed two sizeable floor to ceiling windows, not to mention a sliding glass door that opened out on a patio, and the backyard beyond. In spite of her circumstances, she found a tentative smile twitching at the corner of her mouth, if for no other reason than consideration of the prospect of enjoying so much sunlight on her own.

In a way, it was like a light at the end of a very long tunnel, and Aurora found herself succumbing to the very beginnings of a tentative relief, even in the face of her lingering uncertainties over having taken Dumbledore's request to heart.

Truthfully, she still did not know exactly what benefit she would be to the young infant in the home just opposite her own, particularly as she had been expressly instructed to wait for him to seek her out, on his own. But, regardless of all that, she was determined to do as she had been told, knowing full well that if a man like Albus Dumbledore saw some promise in her presence here, whether she did or not, then she would be best served by simply trusting him, and allowing things to unfold on their own.

She had always trusted the man before, even with her family's seeming distaste for him, and she did not intend to let that change, now.

Steeled by the thought, at least for the time-being, Aurora returned to her trunk that she had previously abandoned in the hall, reaching to unlock the clasps so that she could retrieve her wand, and set about making this house somewhat more like a home. Of course, she knew she would have to be careful. That showing any of her innate ability to those that lived nearby would be not only unwise, but potentially dangerous, as well.

Still, Aurora was particularly determined to avoid the drudgery of unpacking everything inside the trunk the Muggle way, and so she succumbed to the silent urge to simply be done with the task as quickly as she could, if for no other reason than to set herself to tasks that would be far more successful at occupying her mind from things she did not wish to consider.

The time would come when she was forced to confront her shortcomings, and although Aurora knew she would never be fully ready to do so, she was damned if she would do anything less than ensure that her memories did not catch her, unawares…

After all, she knew better than most exactly how destructive such an event might be.

…

(20 December, 1975)

"Not going home then?" A voice inquired, effectively startling Aurora out of her thoughts, and forcing her to turn from her seeming trance staring at the flames in the Slytherin common room to face her fellow third year and friend with a faint smile, and small shake of the head in response, "Why not?"

"Slug Club."

"Oh. You—you got in," Barty surmised, trying, and utterly failing to keep the disappointment he felt from making itself known in his features while simultaneously depositing a pile of books he had brought with him from the dormitory on a nearby table, and flopping into a chair across from his friend before going on, "That's—that's good news."

"You don't sound entirely convinced," Aurora countered, concern flickering in her eyes as she leaned forward with elbows upon her knees to regard Barty as carefully as she could, "Are you alright?"

"Oh, yeah. Just—well, I just feel bad leaving you here by yourself."

"Reg is staying with me. Sirius, too."

"Sirius got into the Slug Club?"

"Merlin, no! I only meant he—well, I reckon he didn't want to be stuck at home alone, when Reg and I were here, that's all."

"I can't say that I blame him. I wish I could stay on, here," Barty confessed, carefully averting his gaze after the words had escaped in hopes that Aurora would not be able to see the utter dejection he knew would be apparent in his expression, "Might be more entertaining, at least, then drudging about on my own at home."

"But won't your family celebrate the holiday? Have a party, or the like?"

"No, it'll probably just be me and Mum. Dad'll be busy working, as usual."

"Oh Barty," Aurora murmured, reaching out a hand before she could stop herself, and twining her fingers through Barty's own in spite of the shocked glance he gave her in response, "Is there no way you could come up with a last-minute reason to stay? Some first year, maybe, struggling in Potions?"

"Wish I could. But I'm stuck, I'm afraid. Nothing that can be done about it."

"Well I'll write you every day, if that'll make it better. Though your dad might not like it if Beaky leaves too many droppings in your room—"

"You don't have to do that," Barty demurred, glancing down at where Aurora's fingers still remained entwined with his own, and frowning a bit at the prospect of the loss of that contact that was sure to come, "I wouldn't want you to go to any trouble."

"Oh yes, it will be absolute torture, writing to you. I'm not sure how I'll survive it."

"Very funny, Ro."

"I thought so," Aurora said, giving her companion a cheeky grin, before extracting her hand from his own in response to the sudden flushing making itself known upon her cheeks, "After all, I'll need something to distract me from Reg and Sirius always having a go at one another."

"Are your brother's friends not staying with him, then?"

"What?"

"Remus and—and James, and all," Barty explained, aware of how Aurora seemed to tense for just a moment before she was shrugging and giving her reply.

"Sure, I suppose."

"They can't keep him from taunting Reg?"

"Well—I dunno," Aurora began, hoping with everything she had that she had not just put her foot in it and allowed her friend to suspect her of a lie. Though the Slug Club was a great part of the reason behind her decision to stay at Hogwarts over the upcoming holiday, it was not the most pressing obligation she found herself held to, in truth. But she could not disclose that, not even to the boy she felt was her very best friend. Not even to Reg. And so, she settled for a half-hearted shrug in hopes of showing her lack of intelligence on the question that had just been posed towards her, her lips pursing into a line for a moment before she spoke once again.

"Anyway, I don't suppose it matters, in the end. I'll write you either way."

"Thanks, Ro," Barty acknowledged, a flicker of a smile toying at his lips as he looked at his friend in earnest, and noted the small twitch of her own lips in response to the familiar nickname both he, and Regulus seemed to favor for addressing her in person, "It means a lot."

"I should hope so. I don't just write to anyone, you know."

In response to the remark, the two of them burst into soft laughter, the books on the table all but forgotten as Barty reached for the pillow stowed behind him in the chair and lobbed it at Aurora as best he could, despite his shaking shoulders. In next to no time at all, the two of them were engaged in a sort of war, pillows flying left and right through the Common Room, though both were careful not to toss anything too close to the fire. And although they were both aware, in some respect, that they had both managed to gloss over the true reason behind their respective decisions to either stay at Hogwarts, or depart, both were now thoroughly absorbed in the task at hand.

For now, at least, they could allow themselves the simple courtesy of enjoying one another's company without worrying over what came next.

…

(Little Whinging, 1981)

The days since Aurora's arrival at the house on Privet Drive passed rather uneventfully, her solitude only broken by the rather strict scheduled she had forced herself to maintain since moving in. Though the weather was chilly, given that Autumn was fully upon them, she still managed to remain out of doors for the majority of the daylight hours, pulling out stray weeds that had grown in the yard in the wake of the absence of the home's former owners. Once the sun had gone down, she busied herself with sprucing up the interior of the home, placing little keepsakes or photographs here and there to make the place look more lived-in, should any of her neighbors feel inclined to drop by unannounced. Dumbledore had given strict orders that she was to make her appearance as natural as possible so as to avoid suspicion.

She just doubted that refusing to allow herself any more than an hour or two of sleep each night was inherent in those instructions.

Still, Aurora knew it was likely the best decision, given what had transpired in the aftermath of her last real bout of sleep back at Grimmauld Place, her jaw clenching just a bit as she recalled the mess she had made of her brother's room. In truth, the realization of what she had done had frightened her far more than anything had in a very long time. And though she knew she would, eventually, have to succumb to her exhaustion in the future, Aurora found herself once again returning to her kitchen in the wake of another day spent outdoors, going through the motions of making herself a cup of tea while doing her best to avoid becoming too lost in her own thoughts.

It had all started in a similar way, before, when Reg had first confronted her about finding her with Barty on the back lawn of their family home. She had been paralyzed—paralyzed with worry that Regulus would make do on his threat, and go to Sirius with what he had seen. That one of them would tell their parents, either willingly or not, and only make things worse. And as that fear had ripped through every nerve ending she possessed, she had suddenly felt as though she would have done anything within her power to prevent that precise outcome, no matter the cost.

That cost, it turned out, had been her brother's startled expression as he had risen up on his elbows after remaining motionless upon his bed for what had felt like ages, the blood trickling from his nose hardly seeming to register as he took in the abject horror that had been etched upon Aurora's face. In seconds, he had tried to get up. Tried to cross the room, to assure her that he was alright. But before he had summoned the wherewithal to do any such thing, Aurora had turned from the room and fled in tears, disappearing for the better part of a day and a half, until their father found her and brought her back home.

From that point on, she had always been careful to keep her emotions as carefully closeted as she could, not trusting herself to escape the next outburst, without harming someone again, or worse. She had never told anyone about the incident, and neither had Reg, her heart warming at the memory of how he had excused his bloody nose with the lie of having tripped over the rug and taken a header into his desk. But looking at the entire ordeal from her perspective, now, Aurora was not so foolish to believe that keeping what had happened a secret had been the smartest decision she had ever made.

She had managed, for a while, she supposed, though as the months had gone by it became harder and harder to keep up the façade. And then, just prior to her return to Hogwarts for her sixth year, and Regulus' seventh, all of her careful attention to decorum had fallen apart at the seams…

…

(31 August, 1978)

"So good of you to join us, Aurora," Walburga chastised, eyeing her daughter's pale features as she slid into her seat across the table, eyes fixed upon her as yet empty dinner plate, "I had wondered when we would have the whole family together, again."

"The whole family," Aurora remarked, a grim sort of amusement apparent in her tone, though she did not look up from her plate to meet her mother's gaze, "I do believe you are omitting someone."

"Am I? I had not noticed."

"So good to know how easy it is to forget your own child—"

"I forget only those who deserve it," Walburga interrupted, reaching for the glass of wine that sat immediately before her, and giving her daughter a scathing look as the girl finally looked up to meet her gaze head on, "You would do well to remember that."

"I will try my best."

"Your mother and I have some news, Aurora," Orion spoke up, then, casting a glance at his wife and youngest son, who as yet had chosen to remain silent in the wake of his sister's chastisement, and wetting his lips with his tongue before elaborating any further, "News we have every reason to believe you will appreciate."

"Oh?" Aurora acknowledged, doing her best to keep her tone even, in spite of the very real suspicion she had that this 'news' would be anything but enjoyable, "Are we letting Sirius back in the house, then?"

"Hold your tongue, girl. Listen to your father."

Biting the inside of her cheek in hopes that it would force her to remain silent, Aurora glanced across the table towards Regulus, only to find that he would not look her in the eye. Brow furrowed, she did her best to quell her nervousness, though she could not entirely neglect her concerns over the very real fact that in the last few weeks, her brother had been uncharacteristically distant with not only herself, but their parents, as well. But before she could spend too much time contemplating such a troubling anomaly, however, Aurora found herself rather abruptly forced back to the present moment, her father's voice causing her to look towards him once again while her heart stuttered within her chest in response to his words.

"We have made a match for you, my dear. And a very advantageous one, at that."

"A—a match?"

"Yes, you silly girl, a match," Walburga snapped, her tone indicating her derision for her daughter's apparent inability to catch on to the nature of their conversation, though she was at least pleased that Aurora had the wherewithal to keep her expression neutral while she awaited further information, "The Rosiers have agreed you are to marry their eldest son."

"An arranged marriage? That's your news?" Aurora scoffed, her hand dropping back to the table just before she had been able to successfully reach for her own glass, and bring it to her lips, "Seems a—a bit old fashioned, don't you think?"

"Not for people like us. This is your duty, Aurora. A chance for you to do right by your family—"

"By becoming a brood mare? An ornament for my husband to brush off and show to the world at parties?"

"Your mother told you to hold your tongue!" Orion spat, keenly aware of the way his daughter had flinched in response to the hardness in his tone, and ignoring it in favor of meeting astonished gaze with a rather determined expression of his own, "We have only done this to help you. To see you well-looked after, in the event we are no longer present to do so ourselves."

"His family has made no secret of their support for the Dark Lord—"

"And neither have we."

Watching as her mother's gaze slid from her, to Regulus, instead, Aurora was powerless to fight against the sinking pit of dread that formed in her stomach, and brought bile to the back of her throat. So, this was the reason for her brother's sudden secrecy. For the distance he had placed between them, when before they had been thick as thieves. Though they were a year apart in age, Aurora had always felt as though Reg were her other half, and until this very moment she had believed he felt the same towards her. But now? Now all she could do was stare at her brother in abject shock, her eyes stinging with unshed tears as she realized for the first time that she was looking at the face of a stranger.

"No. No, Reg, tell me you didn't—"

"I will not lie to you, Ro."

"No!" Aurora exclaimed, the stinging that had arisen in her palm indicating she had slammed it flat upon the surface of the table without fully realizing it had happened at all, "I can't let you do this."

"You can, and you will. Just as you will accept your marriage with all the dignity that befits a witch of your station. I did much the same when I learned of my betrothal to your father."

"But I'm not you, am I, Mum? I never have been, and I never will be."

"If this is about that Crouch boy— " Walburga threatened, her eyes darkening while the fingers that had curled around the stem of her glass tightened infinitesimally as a result of her anger towards her headstrong fool of a daughter, "Aurora, this silly infatuation between the two of you will stop. Now."

"I love him!"

"And you will stop! For the sake of this family, and your marriage, you will stop!"

Unable to stomach any more, Aurora stood on trembling limbs in the face of her mother's edict, and bolted from the room, keenly aware of the vague burning and tingling that had blossomed from the base of her spine, until it had taken over nearly every nerve-ending she possessed. It felt as though she could not breathe. As though an invisible fist had curled itself around her throat to choke the very life from her before she could stop it. Only one thought remained coherent in her mind, amidst the jumble of panic and anger that had set her insides to roiling as though in the eye of a terrible storm. One thought that echoed in time with each ragged breath that she drew into her lungs as she raced down the hall and towards the front door. She had to get out of this house. She had to get out. The walls of her home had suddenly become far too restrictive, as though they had gained the ability to suck the very life from her veins.

If she did not get out of this house, she would suffocate in mere moments…

Panicked by the thought, Aurora burst through the front door and ran down the front steps to the sidewalk, a sudden wave of dizziness causing her to sway where she stood while a hand darted out to land upon the railing by her side. The burning sensation that had begun at the base of her spine only seemed to have gotten worse, her body bowing as a spasm of pain tore at her middle as though she had just been stabbed. Before she could stop it, a sharp cry escaped her lips, while her muscles seemed to spasm of their own accord. And although she was doing everything within her power to stand erect once again, Aurora found she was powerless to do anything more than remain where she was as ripple after ripple of agony pulsed through her frame…

It was not long after that, when everything went black, and she knew no more.

…


	4. The Neighbor

(23 December, 1975)

"You're late."

"I know, I know," Aurora groused, clambering the rest of the way through the tunnel below the Whomping Willow, and coming to a stop in the spacious room it opened upon with Peter Pettigrew right at her heels, "Slug Club ran a little late, and I only just got away."

"Old Sluggy going on about how amazing you are again, Rory?"

"Hardly. How is he?"

"Not good," Sirius informed, all traces of humor leaving him as he spared a glance for Pettigrew, and shook his head as though to clear it of something he had not wanted to see, "James got a bit bashed up and Remus has been beating himself up over it, ever since."

"Bloody hell—"

"Couldn't have said it better myself."

"Will James be alright?" Aurora inquired, hurrying to follow after her brother as he headed towards the door at the opposite end of the room they occupied, while Peter hurried along in their wake.

"Think so. Anyway, he'll never go to Pomfrey."

"Which is why you suggested I bring this."

Nodding in the direction of the bag strapped over his sister's shoulder, Sirius continued to lead their trio towards the doorway, the sound of hushed conversation reaching their ears as they moved. It was obvious to all parties that one of the voices belonged to James, who was so clearly trying to urge his friend to see that whatever injuries he had sustained were not his fault. But Remus, it seemed, was not at all inclined to allow for such a thing, if the distress that had caused his voice to crack was any indication, and Aurora found herself flinching at the self-hatred so inherent in the words that echoed out to them just as they reached the doorframe of the room Sirius had been leading her to.

"Think sensibly, James! I could have killed you!"

"Yeah, but you didn't, mate. And anyways, it was me, not thinking. Got too close—"

"More like none of you should have been here in the first place."

"What's all this, then?" Aurora asked, stepping around Sirius despite the way one of his hands had darted out to keep her back as though he truly thought Remus could attack her now, in his current state, "You two butting heads, again?"

"Something like that," James quipped, somehow managing to successfully hide his wince as the slight laugh that escaped in response to his best mate's sister's remark aggravated his likely bruised ribs, "He's a stubborn one, our Remus."

"Don't minimize this, James."

"I'm not."

"You bloody well are."

"Alright, before things get heated again, maybe the two of you should just sit back and accept help where it's given," Aurora suggested, sharing a look with her brother before moving towards James, and setting the bag she had wound about her shoulders down at his side, "Filched some things from Slughorn's office during Club. Think you can share with Remus after you take care of your scrapes and cuts?"

"Sure thing. How'd you manage—"

"How did I manage to nick them without getting caught?"

"Yeah."

"Have you forgotten who my older brother is?"

"Not bloody likely," James replied, ducking his head down to begin sifting through the bag, while Aurora turned her attention towards Remus, instead.

"You alright?"

In response to the look of utter dejection that spread across Remus' features in response to the inquiry, Aurora found herself almost immediately regretting it, her expression softening as she cast one final glance towards James to reassure herself that Sirius had him well in hand, before she was reaching out to pull her brother's friend to his feet, and tightened her hold upon his hand as soon as he stood so that he could not pull away.

"Right. Stupid question," She admitted, peering up at him in spite of how he seemed to instinctively look away, and stepping just a bit closer before she spoke once again, "Feeling up to a walk?"

"I have the feeling I will be going on one, whether I am or not."

"Only if you're not hiding an injury or two from me because you're feeling too guilty to justify proper treatment."

"I'm not," Remus stated, touched by the obvious concern that was so apparent in Aurora's gaze, regardless of whether he felt he truly deserved it, or not, and allowing himself to follow along after her as she tugged him gently towards another door at the right hand side of the room, and reached a hand into her sweater's pocket to withdraw her wand and wave it at the boarded up door in hopes that they would be capable of managing a walk through Hogsmeade now that the streets would be relatively deserted, "Are you certain about this?"

"About what?"

"Being alone with me. I—if I hurt you—"

"Please, Remus, the transformation is already done. You won't hurt me, and I'll not be afraid of you, even if you did," Aurora cut in, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, "You're as good as family, you know that."

"Oh? And are others of your family prone to turning into giant, murderous beasts every month?"

"Well there is a particularly obnoxious furry black dog."

"I'm being serious, Aurora."

"So am I. And anyway, just because none of the rest of my family can turn into something else doesn't mean they aren't monsters in their own right."

"Your parents," Remus stated, finally meeting Aurora's gaze in time to see her nod once, before she was ducking through the door with him close behind, "Sirius might have mentioned something about that."

"I'm not surprised that he did."

"I am sorry that they are so hard on you, Aurora—"

"That, Remus, is not what I wanted to discuss with you," The young woman deflected, turning her attention to the uneven ground at her feet as the two of them stepped out into the chill air of the night, still hand in hand. Their breath made little puffs of mist in the air around them, and Aurora found herself almost instinctively stepping closer to Remus' side in search of a bit more warmth after she had once again waved her wand, and the boards across the door of the Shrieking Shack were once again back in their proper place. For his part, he seemed startled at the gesture, though he did not flinch away. After all, as soon as she had arrived, he had noted that she was clad only in a green, above the knee dress, likely what she had worn to the party Slughorn had thrown, with only a thin sweater wound about her shoulders. And although he was half-tempted to chastise her for coming out on such a cold night with so little regard for her own warmth, Remus held his tongue, choosing instead to simply allow her to curl into his side as they moved down the lawn in front of the Shrieking Shack, and towards the gate, and sidewalk beyond.

"What did you want to discuss?"

"Mmm?"

"You said your parents were not what you wanted to discuss with me," Remus clarified, aware of the slight tightening in Aurora's shoulders as she continued to walk alongside him, and had started chewing a bit at her lower lip as though deep in thought, "What did you wish to discuss?"

"You."

"Me? What about me?"

"What do you think?" Aurora prodded, using the hand that was not in Remus' to tug the edges of her sweater closer about her shoulders while the two of them moved off toward the sidewalk side by side, "You can't keep berating yourself like this, Remus."

"I can if I'm a danger to my friends," Remus insisted, aware of the almost immediate scoff Aurora gave in response, and yet choosing to ignore it in favor of going on, "What if I killed one of them? What then?"

"You would never do that."

"And you can't say that. Not for a certainty."

"Do you know what I can say?" Aurora asked him then, suppressing a shudder as a sudden wind tugged at the hem of her dress, and caused goosepimples to erupt on the skin of her legs and arms, "I can say that the very fact you are concerned for this possible outcome means you would never do it. James, Peter, and Sirius would never have taken such a risk if they truly thought themselves to be in harm's way, Remus."

"You and I both know they have never been the sort to take precautions."

"Peter has, and yet he has not abandoned you. You may as well stop arguing with me, you know. I can keep this up all night."

"Why are you so determined to see the good in this?" Remus inquired, a mixture of exasperation and incredulity coloring his tone, despite the fact he had always known the young witch walking beside him to be one to hold to her convictions, "This is your brother placing himself at risk, after all."

"He does it because he loves you. We all do, whether you can see it right now, or not," Aurora assured, managing what she hoped would be an encouraging smile for Remus' benefit, before directing her attention back to the path ahead of them, which remained rather mercifully deserted, "And if I have to spend the rest of my days reminding you of that, then I will."

"That could be an awfully long time, Aurora."

"Good. I, for one, don't plan on going anywhere any time soon."

"Is that your way of informing me I am stuck with you?"

"What would you say if it was?"

That I did not deserve you. Any of you," Remus declared, tightening his hold upon Aurora's hand just a bit by way of providing thanks for her steadfast encouragement, and simultaneously coming to a stop so that she was made to do the same in order for him to look her in the eye, "I will always be grateful for this, you know."

"And has it made you feel any better?"

"Minutely."

"Only minutely?" Aurora teased, relieved to see the faintest hints of a smile tugging at Remus' lips as she peered up at him from a rather significant disadvantage in height while he replied.

"Yes. Do try to be satisfied with that for now, won't you?"

Seemingly satisfied by such a response, Aurora managed a faint nod before finding herself tucked back against Remus' side once more as they set off towards the darkened shops of Hogsmeade, relief giving her the ability relax as she acknowledged that perhaps, at least for now, her attempt at reassuring her dear friend of his place and value within their group had been a success. In truth, she understood his doubts, particularly as if she had been in his situation, she would likely be experiencing many of them, herself, as well. But regardless of that supposition, Aurora knew that to confirm that would be at best, counter-productive, and at worst a prompt for him to slip back into his own self-deprecating thoughts, and so she did what she could to redirect her own mind to something far more pleasant to discuss, only to find her attempt cut short when Remus took the liberty of speaking, himself.

"How was Slug Club, then?"

"Same as always, I suppose. Loads of food, interrogations about our plans for the future, and all that."

"Interrogations?"

"Gentle ones," Aurora corrected, sharing in Remus' laughter as they rounded a corner in the path they travelled, and continued on down the sidewalk, in spite of the renewed buffeting of the wind against their bodies that caused them both to shiver, "I think he wants as many of us to be as famous as possible so that he can take the credit for making it so."

"And what does he hope to make of you?"

"Probably a star Quidditch player."

"He might be on the right track, there. You certainly give James a run for his money when he drags you into a game on the lawn."

"Well it's certainly not a career my parents would approve of."

"What would they see you do?" Remus inquired, phrasing the question as gently as he could, though Aurora still tensed once again, regardless, "Forgive me, it's—you can tell me to sod off if you'd rather not say."

"It's not that. It's just—well—I'm not too sure they have much in the way of ambitions for my future, save for marrying into a wealthy family and giving them grandchildren."

"Aurora—"

"I'm being entirely serious," The girl pressed, drawing her sweater still tighter around her frame, and frowning at the knowledge of what her parents would likely expect from her, in the coming years, "My duty to the family, and all that."

"Well I can think of a husband for you already, if your parents are truly that concerned about it."

"Oh, can you, now?"

"Indeed, I can," Remus confirmed, aware of Aurora's expression of incredulity, and suppressing the chuckle that came almost immediately in response, "Peter."

"What?"

"I do believe you heard me, Aurora."

"That does not mean I trust my own hearing," Aurora replied, unable to resist the soft laughter that shook her shoulders even in spite of the shock Remus' statement had provoked, "You cannot be referring to Peter Pettigrew."

"And what if I am?"

"I may be forced to question your sanity, Remus."

"Do it if you must. You haven't been the one forced to watch him doodling your names together when he knows Sirius isn't looking," Remus teased, laughing once again at his companion's almost immediate roll of the eyes, and dodging out of the way at the last possible second as she swatted at him in retaliation, "What? Would I lie about this?"

"You would if it got me off of a topic you would rather avoid."

"And now you are accusing me of subterfuge. Were I not your friend, I might take offense at that."

"I suppose it's fortunate for the both of us that you are my friend, then," Aurora quipped, accepting the nudge in her side that Remus had given her, and finding herself rather abundantly grateful that his mood appeared to have improved, even if it came at her own expense, "Though that still does not mean I believe you."

"Not even if it meant you would have a reason to make your parents happy."

"Peter would not make them happy. They have very particular notions of who would make a proper husband."

"A pure-blood, you mean. From one of the twenty-eight families."

"That would be the gist of it, yes."

"Aurora, I am so sorry—" Remus began, his expression turning into something that was not all that far from pitying, though Aurora rather quickly put him to rights with her immediate reply.

"Don't be. Maybe I'll get lucky, and the one my parents select will be—well—the one."

"You sound as though you already have someone in mind."

"No. No, it's not that!" Aurora exclaimed, the burning of her cheeks prompting her to avert her eyes in hopes that her companion would not see that she was attempting to pass off a lie, "I don't—there isn't anyone."

"I do hope you can forgive me if I do not take your word for it."

"Perhaps. But only if you say nothing to Sirius. Or Peter. And especially not to James."

"I will remain silent as the grave," Remus swore, once again breaking out into a faint smile in response to Aurora's ready roll of the eyes, and using the hold he still had upon her hand to steer them back in the direction of the Shrieking Shack before the others decided to come looking for them, "On that, you have my word."

Apparently satisfied with the reply Remus had given her, Aurora allowed him to take over the task of directing their path, her lips pursing into a faint frown even in spite of how she still felt more than a little pleased at bringing him back to himself. In truth, the discussion of her future prospects was not entirely a topic she had anticipated being brought up, though she would gladly have discussed anything had it guaranteed her a means of relieving Remus' dour mood. But perhaps what troubled her more was what he had suggested when the topic of prospective suitors came about.

Peter Pettigrew simply could not have even the remotest hint of feelings for her. Sirius would have known, and put a stop to it in an instant.

Wouldn't he?

Shaking her head to rid it of such thoughts before they returned to the rest of their impromptu little gathering, Aurora did her best to school her expression into something more akin to the amusement she had expressed mere moments ago. She knew, as well as Remus did, that her brother was remarkably adept at reading people's moods in their expressions alone, or at least he was with those he was closest to. And although she loved him dearly for it, she also knew she could not let him in on how she truly felt about her best friend. Not yet.

The consequences of that particular revelation just might be more explosive than the ones that would come to be if there were any truth to what Remus had said about Peter…

…

(Little Whinging, 1981)

The sudden sound of the ringing doorbell effectively startled Aurora out of her impromptu doze, one hand tugging through some of the dark hair that had fallen across her face due to her awkward positioning upon the armchair. In truth, she had not anticipated a visitor, since she had been living in the house on Privet Drive for just a little over a week without one popping by. But whether she was prepared for the prospect or not, Aurora hurried to stand on her own two feet, only swaying just a little bit as vertigo and a grumbling stomach threatened to have their way with her before she forced such things aside in favor of heading towards the door.

Upon opening it, she was surprised to find herself face to face with a young woman that appeared to be around the same age as Aurora was, herself, a wide smile upon her face, and a plate full of something that looked rather like muffins held in both hands. With brows raised in apparent shock, Aurora cleared her throat, and did her best to don a smile of her own, gesturing for the woman to come inside despite the fact that she was hardly certain the decision was wise. And before she knew it, she found that she was taking the plate from the stranger's hands, her gratitude tremulous, but nonetheless genuine as she spoke.

"Erm—thank you. I—"

"No need to thank me. I should be apologizing to you for taking so bloody long to get over to introduce myself," The young woman cut in, lifting a hand to tuck a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear before extending that hand, and offering Aurora another blindingly bright smile, "Ellie Simms."

"Aurora."

"Such a pretty name. It have a last name to go along with?"

"Tompkins," Aurora replied, hoping that the flinch she gave in response to the artificial surname that had quite literally popped out of thin air in response to the innocent question would not be visible to the woman who seemed absolutely determined to make a grand first impression, "Sorry, I—I'm afraid I've just woken from a bit of a nap and I'm not fully there, yet."

"I know the feeling," The blonde—Ellie—commiserated, sending Aurora a wink as she followed her new neighbor further into the den, and watched as she set the plate of muffins down on a coffee table before the sofa, "And where is Miss Aurora Tompkins from, if she doesn't mind my asking? It is 'Miss' isn't it? Or Missus?"

"No. No, not 'Missus'. I—I'm not married. But I came from London."

"Lucky. I've been living here in Little Whinging my whole life."

"That bad, is it?" Aurora asked, in part genuinely curious, and in part endeavoring to put forth an equally friendly exterior despite her reluctance to get too comfortable with anyone in her newfound locale. Something about this 'Ellie' seemed inherently non-threatening, though that did not necessarily reassure Aurora enough to let her guard down completely. But in spite of that, she forced herself to continue on in the apparent inquisitive nature of their current conversation, her eyes meeting Ellie's directly as the blonde managed a shrug before she replied.

"Not really. Just gets a bit boring at times."

"Trust me, boring isn't always a bad thing."

"What, you an adventurer?" Ellie joked, cocking her head to the side and sending Aurora what she could only describe as a mischievous grin before going on, "You have the look."

"Oh, come now—"

"You do! You look like a woman who's seen some things—done some things—that are absolutely amazing."

"Not really," Aurora demurred, biting at her lower lip for a moment as she considered the prospect of her newfound acquaintance's reaction if she knew the truth of all the things she had seen and done in her life thus far, "I'm a bit ordinary, if we're being honest."

"Well hopefully you can forgive me if I don't quite believe that."

"I suppose that could be arranged."

"Good," Ellie acknowledged, sending Aurora another smile, before turning in a slow circle around the den so that she could take in the still meager décor, such as it was at that moment, "You've done a fair bit, for having just moved in."

"Yeah, I—I didn't want to just leave it lying around."

"It looks good."

"Thank you. We aim to please."

"Oh I didn't mean it like that," Ellie corrected, brow furrowing in concern over having possibly offended her new neighbor, only to find that Aurora was laughing softly, and shaking her head in obvious amusement, rather than remaining stonily silent or openly glaring in response, "And you know that."

"I do."

"Most people usually don't. I'm—I'm glad you do."

"Well like I said. I aim to please," Aurora said, unable to resist the faint smile that tugged at her lips, even in the face of how she was still very much reluctant to put herself in the position of allowing another person to spend too much time in her presence. She was not so blind as to ignore the potential benefits of knowing someone that could have no possible inkling about her past, of course, just as she knew it might be beneficial to have another person around to relieve her of her solitude. But even with that awareness, she was still reluctant to do anything that might risk exposure, both of her presence on Privet Drive in general, and of the thing she had tried so very hard to hide.

Perhaps that was what had her pausing, when a proper hostess would be offering tea, or something light to snack on, her hazel eyes flicking to meet Ellie's blue ones as the other woman seemed to innately sense her indecision, and decided to break their sudden silence on her own.

"I don't want to intrude," She began, returning her attention to Aurora, and noting that the young woman appeared simultaneously relieved and dismayed at the prospect of being left to her own devices once again, "But feel free to take as long as you like with those muffins, and swing by whenever you'd like."

"Thank you, Ellie. For—for everything," Aurora managed, gratefully accepting her companion's hand to give it a small squeeze, before dropping her hands back to her sides, and following after the blonde as she headed back towards the front door, "Perhaps—perhaps when I return the tray, I'll have something there for you, as well."

"Don't feel like you have to—"

"No, I—I want to."

"Well don't over-do it. I'd hate to have to come back at you with enough baked goods to feed an entire army in retribution," Ellie teased, sharing in Aurora's laughter as she opened the front door, and headed out onto the landing once more, "See you soon, then?"

"Yeah. Of course. See you soon."

As Ellie headed down the landing towards the sidewalk, and down the street towards her own home, Aurora stood in the doorway for a moment or two just watching, a thousand thoughts racketing around in her mind as she tried to reconcile her presumed solitude with the very real thought that she may have just made a friend. It did not seem entirely possible, given that she had never been one for befriending strangers on her own, without another soul there as the go-between. But something about the prospect of not being as alone as she had feared was startlingly encouraging, in spite of her lingering apprehension over what it might mean if Elli were to discover that Aurora was, in fact, far from ordinary…

It was almost as though the strange sensation bubbling up in her chest in response to the impromptu visit was not all that far from actual happiness, and although Aurora did not quite know how to respond to such a thing, she was also very much unwilling to let it slip through her fingers before investigating it more thoroughly.

If nothing else, she owed it to herself at the very least to see if it could last.

…


	5. Grief and Expectations

(31 August, 1978)

"But can you fix it?" The distorted voice pressed, sounding an awful lot like Aurora's mother, though she did not feel entirely capable of making a definitive claim in that regard, with the ringing sound that still persisted in her ears, "Can you just—make it go away?"

"I'm afraid it is not that simple, Missus Black."

"Well why not?"

"The circumstances surrounding your daughter's hospitalization are very unique," A distinctly male voice replied, the faint sound of shuffling papers, and an exasperated huff wafting into the partially cracked doorway that allowed a sliver of light to pierce Aurora's now open eyes, "We have little to no experience of what brought her here, particularly at her age."

"What does that mean—at her age?" Walburga demanded—for Aurora was now relatively certain that the vehemence in the second voice in the hall did, in fact, belong to her mother, having never heard another soul speak with such derision in her life, "If you are simply trying to deter me from finding the truth, I will be lodging a complaint with your superiors."

"I am not deterring you, ma'am. The last known patient with a case that presented as your daughter has was only seven years old."

"And what happened to them?"

"Their presentation was similar," The male voice began, the sudden softening of his words forcing Aurora to squirm a bit in the hospital bed, as she strained to be better able to hear amidst the sound of passing footsteps outside the door, "Destruction, either localized or not, and absolutely no recollection of the event after the fact."

"You were incapable of curing them?"

"That is correct."

"Then they are still out there," Walburga surmised, the familiar harshness that Aurora was so accustomed to seeping back into her tone, and causing her daughter to flinch despite the fact that she could not see her face, "Perhaps they have managed to find a more capable healer."

"They have not, ma'am."

"And why would that be?"

"Because they—they died."

A low mewl of protest escaped between Aurora's chapped lips in response to the remark, her fingers curling into the bedsheet that was spread out over her legs as she tried to will herself to believe she had simply heard incorrectly. Everything that had happened since she ran from the dinner table was a blur, mingled with pain and the distant sound of her own choking sobs. If she spent too much time trying to recollect, it felt as though she would suffocate in the wake of her own uncertainty—that it would coalesce into a dark, heavy blanket that could never be moved once it settled. But try though she might to divert her thoughts, she found her attention once again returning to the conversation transpiring just outside her door, her breath coming in short gasps as she realized her mother was speaking once again.

"I would like for you to find another healer. Someone with more experience, to look at my daughter," Walburga demanded, her voice pitched low, as though she were terrified that anyone else in the vicinity might overhear, "I would like for you to do it now."

"Ma'am—"

"Now! Or I will go to your superior expressly, and inform them of my desires, myself."

The sound of receding footsteps seemed to indicate the healer was moving off to do as he had been instructed, and Aurora waited with bated breath to see if her mother would come inside her room, in the aftermath. Though she knew full well that Walburga Black had hardly been a sentimental, comforting woman, there was a part of her, despite her meager sixteen years, that longed for her mother to scoop her into her arms, and hold her tightly until the persistent trembling that wracked her limbs had ceased. But what she did not expect, regardless of her own personal wishes, was the sight of her mother forcing her door open so that she could sweep inside and head towards the abandoned chair beside the lone window in the room, her hands already reaching for discarded bits of personal effects while she spoke without ever meeting her daughter's gaze.

"Get up, Aurora. We are leaving."

"I—what?" Aurora stammered, eyes blown wide as she watched her mother ball up what was clearly one of her father's old sweaters, and stuff it inside the bag that had been placed on the floor beside the chair, "But you said you wanted another healer—"

"What have I told you about eavesdropping, girl? Honestly, I cannot determine where you learned such a disgusting habit—"

"You said you wanted another healer. If we—if we leave, won't we miss them?"

"I said that to give us time to get you out of here. Now get out of that bed, and help me."

Knowing that resisting her mother's demands would only bring more trouble, Aurora did what she could to ignore the lingering shudders that passed through every muscle she possessed as she pushed the blanket away from her legs, and swung them over the edge of the bed. With her mother's back turned, it was painfully obvious that her current situation had caused the older woman a great deal of stress, though whether it came from any sort of genuine concern, or what news of this hospitalization might mean for the family, she could not tell.

She suspected her mother would inform her in short order, and as she stumbled over towards the chair to reach for a discarded tissue beneath it on the floor, Walburga did not disappoint.

"You will learn to control this," She declared, slamming the bag into the chair after securing the zipper, and rounding on her daughter only to snatch the discarded tissue from her grasp, "You will fix this, and we will forget it ever happened."

"Mum, the healer said it was—"

"I do not care what the healer said. You will control yourself, and this will never happen again, do you hear me? I will not have it compromising your education, or your engagement."

"Of course, how could we compromise my ability to provide some rich sod an heir?" Aurora snapped, some small voice in the back of her mind all but screaming at her to hold her tongue, though her exhaustion, confusion and frustration made that task all but impossible even in spite of the flicker of abject rage that passed through her mother's eyes, "That, after all, is my sole purpose in life—"

"Enough!"

The sound of Walburga's palm connecting with Aurora's cheek seemed to echo throughout the tiny room, though for her part, the older woman seemed able to dismiss the act as though it was nothing more than a harmless caress. In next to no time at all, Walburga had turned from her daughter, and reached for the bag upon the chair, oblivious to how Aurora had lifted a hand to her reddening cheek, while simultaneously biting her lower lip as fiercely as she could to keep the sting of her tears at bay. She was determined not to let her mother see her cry. Not now, when it was so clear that her only concern was the dignity of the family remaining intact. And so, in spite of the fact that she still felt as though she could not trust her limbs to keep her upright, she remained stonily silent, dropping her hand back to her side just as her mother turned around, and following along after her as she made her way toward the door.

She did not particularly relish the idea of returning to Grimmauld Place, not even with the prospect of the journey to Hogwarts the following day, regardless of her hospitalization, but she knew now that if she persisted in defying her mother's clear desire to pretend as though nothing had ever happened, she would pay for her disobedience far more than she ever had, before.

If Aurora did anything other than uphold the good name of her family as her mother and father so clearly expected her to, she would likely find herself a mere blackened hole in the family tapestry just like her brother…

Sirius.

Try though she might to ignore the guilt that clawed at her already raw nerves at the thought, Aurora could not deny that this had been the first she had thought of him in what felt like ages, her teeth digging into her lower lip once again while a single tear slipped, unchecked, down the pale skin of her cheek.

Now, more than ever, she missed his unfailing grin, and the way his arm would wind about her shoulders whenever he felt she needed a hug; the idea of never seeing him again suddenly becoming far more heartbreaking than she wanted to admit.

…

(Little Whinging, 1981)

Aurora was sitting sideways on the sofa in the den, her feet curled beneath her as she leant against the pillows at her back and side, an old book in one hand while the other held a half-eaten muffin supplied by Ellie the evening before. She was forced to admit, in spite of her skepticism over allowing the young woman into her home in the first place, that her neighbor appeared to be a remarkably good baker, this having been the third of the treats she had indulged in that day. After what felt like ages of subsisting off of the occasional bowl of soup, or crust of bread in the wake of everything that had led to her arrival here in the first place, Aurora found that the muffins were almost exactly what she had never known she needed. And although she still had not a clue exactly what she would prepare to thank Ellie for her kind welcome, she was determined to think of something to return the favor.

If nothing else, she would not be the only one on Privet Drive with a suddenly expanding waistline.

Satisfied with the thought, Aurora polished off the last of the muffin, and used her now freed hand to turn the page of her book, a sigh escaping as she realized she had been staring at the same page for minutes at a time without comprehending what she was reading. It had become a rather obnoxious tendency, she found, that she could not focus on idle reading anymore, where before, she could spend hours at a time lost to the world in the pages of a book. But regardless of whether or not she could fall back into some of her favorite past-times given everything that had transpired in what had felt like a manner of moments, instead of the days that had truly passed, Aurora was determined to force herself into some semblance of normalcy, her eyes skimming the page now before her for a moment, until she was startled by the sudden sound of her doorbell ringing once again.

"What in the bloody hell—" She trailed off, placing her book down, pages flat upon the sofa cushion to hold her place, before hauling herself to her feet, and heading towards the door. In truth she had not a clue who might be calling, now, given that she was fairly certain Ellie was prepared to wait for her to make the first move when it came to meeting a second time. But regardless of the slight apprehension she felt over answering her door once more, Aurora forced herself to forge ahead, her expression hopefully conveying nothing but open curiosity as her hand landed upon the doorknob, and she gave it a twist to pull it open.

To say anything other than that the man stood on the landing was the very last possible person she had expected to see, given the circumstances, would have been a lie.

"May I come in?" He inquired, seeming to take Aurora's almost immediate step back into the foyer as consent, and hurrying forward to gain entry into her home so that she could shut the door behind him. For a moment after she had done so, she simply remained standing beside the door, watching as the man seemed content to remain in her foyer, with his back now pressed against the wall. On deeper inspection, it became clear that he was actually trembling, though not so much as to compromise his ability to stand upright. But before she could make any sort of remark on that fact, or the curiosity she felt over his sudden and unexpected appearance, he was breaking the silence between them himself, his words so soft that Aurora almost had to strain to hear them, herself.

"They told me you were dead."

"They? Who are 'they'?"

"Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy."

"But why?"

"Why? You truly have to ask?" The man spat, finally turning to look Aurora in the eye, and thus forcing her to take an instinctive step back in response to the anguish that was etched so clearly upon his face, in spite of the fact that a shock of dark hair had fallen across one cheek, "They know you are alone, now. Vulnerable. And there are several that will be seeking retribution."

"Retribution for what? I have done nothing," Aurora replied, doing her best to steel herself for the imminent reply, though she was still struggling to reconcile Dumbledore's pleas for secrecy as it pertained to her relocation with the man's sudden appearance in her home. Truth be told, she was not entirely certain she could trust this man, regardless of the former acquaintance he had shared with both herself, and Regulus as well. But whether doing so would end up harming her in the end, or helping her, Aurora held her tongue on that particular matter, instead choosing to remain attentive as the man stood in her foyer spoke once more.

"That is precisely why they will come. Your husband was murdered, and you did nothing."

"What was I supposed to do, Severus? Track down Mad-Eye Moody myself and try to do him in?"

"That does not matter. None of it matters, anymore," Severus began, dark eyes absolutely fixed upon Aurora's hazel ones so that even if she wished to, she could not look away, "Your absence, along with your brother's betrayal has given most leave to question your loyalties."

"Am I to assume the Malfoys wish to protect me, then?" Aurora inquired, skepticism heavy in her tone despite the fact that the implications of her unexpected guest's warning were not lost on her at all, "That seems contradictory, at best."

"They are your family."

"And what exactly gives you the idea that my family ever gave a damn about me?"

"What gives you the idea they do not?"

Unable to resist the bitter laugh that broke free in response to the statement, Aurora moved past Severus and back into her den, padding over to the sofa to pluck the book from the cushions so that she could place it upon the nearby table, instead. A part of her knew that it was perhaps unwise to turn her back on the man who she had only ever known as a truly loyal servant to the Dark Lord. But a still greater part seemed to innately sense that, were he here to harm her for her perceived defection, he would have done so already, particularly after noticing that she did not carry her wand with her when she answered the door.

Something about such a realization prompted Aurora to turn back towards the foyer, then, her brow furrowing as she discovered Severus had not bothered to move from where he stood, leaning against the wall. She could see it so clearly, in his eyes—that in the place of the haughty, sometimes odd older boy that she had known in school—in the place of the almost bitter man that had been a close companion of her husband's—was a man that was a mere shell of who he had once been, as though the very life had been drained from his body, bit by bit. And before she could fully reconcile what she was doing, the young woman found herself moving back to stand beneath the arch that separated the foyer from the den, a shaky breath leaving her before she summoned the wherewithal to speak.

"So, you—you know."

He did not reply, though Aurora supposed he truly did not have to, the spasm of unmistakable pain that flickered across his features causing tears to prick at the corners of her eyes, though she did what she could to keep them from falling. Though she could not fathom exactly why the thought had come to her mind, somehow, she knew that, if he had not yet made a move to curse or kill her, Severus had likely only arrived because he knew where she had gone, and why…

And that meant he knew precisely what had happened to Lily, and James.

"Come. Sit," She pleaded, stretching her hand out for a moment, only to drop it back to her side as Severus removed himself from her foyer, and brushed past her into the den of his own volition, "I—I'll see about some tea."

"That will not be necessary, Aurora."

"There are muffins—"

"No. I am not here for refreshment."

"Then why are you here, Severus?"

"You are here to watch over the Potter boy," Severus declared, the almost deadened quality that his tone possessed provoking a shiver to make its way through Aurora's frame as she swallowed once, and managed a simple nod in response, "I trust you have sufficient protective enchantments."

"I—well, I rather thought it wouldn't be—"

"That it would not be necessary?"

"You don't have to sound so affronted about it," Aurora quipped, frowning as she saw that her remark made absolutely no impression upon her companion, save for ensuring that he stood once again and began to head back towards the door, "Where are you going?"

"Where do you think?"

Knowing that any attempt at protest would likely be futile, Aurora settled instead for allowing Severus to head back out of doors, choosing to busy herself with the task of preparing the aforementioned tea, despite how he had declined it outright. If nothing else, she knew that a cup or two would likely sooth her own nerves, both in the wake of the man's sudden appearance, and the news he had brought along with him. And so she did her best to focus instead upon the task of hunting down the tea bags, and boiling some water in the kettle, her teeth absently worrying at her lower lip while she worked.

By the time the kettle had begun to shrill as the water came to a boil, Aurora heard the sound of footsteps in her foyer, once again, her posture straightening from the position she had taken leaning against the counter as her companion paused for only a moment in the den, before discerning where she had disappeared to while he had stepped out.

"You were foolish to leave yourself vulnerable, Aurora."

"I am surrounded by Muggles, Severus. I doubt I need shield charms to keep myself safe."

"The Dark Lord—"

"The Dark Lord is dead! And he has taken nearly everyone I ever loved with him!" Aurora exclaimed, startling herself with the vehemence in her tone, though for his part, Severus did not even flinch, "What else is there for me to lose, Severus? Can you tell me that?"

"Your life."

"You really think that means anything to me, now?"

"If it did not, you would not be here," Severus retorted, dark eyes never once leaving Aurora's frame as she poured them both a cup of tea, and carried them back towards the sofa as he followed along in her wake, "If you did not believe you still had some purpose, you would not be following Dumbledore's request."

"How do you know about—"

"You are not the only one that has the Headmaster's ear."

"Did he send you?" Aurora asked, watching as Severus placed his tea upon the nearby table beside her book while she nursed her own if for no other reason than to give her hands something to do, "Is there some reason for him to doubt my ability to do as instructed?"

"I am not here because he sent me. Though if he knew you had left yourself unprotected, he might have felt the need to come, himself."

"I didn't do it intentionally, Severus."

"Then explain to me why a seasoned witch such as yourself would ever justify doing what you have done," Severus insisted, narrowing his eyes at Aurora while she perched on the opposite edge of the sofa, all traces of his former broken demeanor gone, "Explain to me why your wand is nowhere to be seen."

"Dumbledore said to keep a low profile."

"Keeping a low profile does not mean leaving yourself open to attack."

"And as I said, in a block full of Muggles, I very much doubt that I am at risk."

"Then you are a fool."

"Very well, I am a fool," Aurora conceded, glancing down at the cup of tea clutched between her hands, and swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat before going on, "That does not tell me why you came."

"To warn you. To prepare you for the worst, should anyone else find your new home," Severus informed, his tone indicating that he felt the revelation should have been obvious, though he did not make any further comment on the matter at the present, "You need to protect yourself if you have any hope of keeping the boy safe."

"Harry."

"What?"

"His name is Harry," Aurora corrected, brow furrowing as she recognized the infinitesimal spasm that wracked Severus' features for a fraction of a second before his expression was once again returning to its usual neutral mask, "And I can still keep him safe from a distance if I must."

"Have you—have you seen him?"

"Not yet, no. Couldn't quite determine a reason for turning up on the front doorstep knowing about a baby that the Dursleys only just took in."

"But you intend to stay," Severus surmised, aware of the slight uptick in Aurora's brow, and yet persisting in the act of watching her carefully while she mulled over a reply.

"I see no reason why I should not."

In the wake of the surprising amount of certainty inherent in her reply, Severus seemed content to remain silent while Aurora sipped at her tea, his expression once again going pensive in the silence that arose between them. It was clear, he thought, that she was holding something back. That there was another reason for her presence in Little Whinging, aside from looking after Harry Potter as Dumbledore had ordered. But knowing Aurora as he did, he knew he would not get any answers by asking her directly…

There was, however, another way.

Absorbed in her tea, at least for the moment, Aurora almost did not notice the subtle push against her mind, the sensation still seeming oddly familiar despite the length of time there had been since she last experienced it. For a moment or two, she simply remained complacent, allowing herself to get used to the prospect of sharing her mind with someone this freely, something she had not done, admittedly, since—him. But of course, she ought to have known, with Severus, things could hardly every stay that simple.

The engagement party. Green and silver streamers strung between crème colored tents. A shrill screaming in her ears, and the hem of her dress soaked in blood. A hospital bed, and tear-stained cheeks. Then white silk, and green gemstones looped round her neck, while a possessive hand scalded her back through the fabric of her dress. The feeling of being ripped away from everyone she had ever known. Loneliness. And then a chance meeting in a shop in Knockturn Alley. Her panic and simultaneous longing that led two people to a secluded alleyway. News of her husband's death, and two arrests, and losing all consciousness as a fire ripped its way through her veins.

Waking in a hospital bed, with a hollow feeling in her stomach, and the bitter sting of tears on her lips…

"No. No, you do not get to see that," Aurora hissed, standing from the sofa so quickly that the teacup she held tumbled from her lap and shattered upon the floor beside her feet, "You—you have no right to see that."

"What happened, Aurora?" Severus probed, holding out a hand as Aurora moved to stoop and clean up the shards of glass from her teacup, and simultaneously withdrawing his wand from inside his robe to clean the mess himself, "What was it that really led you here?"

"I think you should leave."

"Aurora—"

"I think you should leave," Aurora repeated, curling her fingers into fists in an effort to prevent their trembling from becoming apparent to her companion, and taking a step back as he stood to his full height and attempted to approach her, himself, "Please, Severus. I—please."

Managing a single nod, Severus stepped around the sofa and headed towards the foyer, his steps only slowing as he neared the front door, and heard softer footsteps behind him. As he had anticipated, Aurora had followed him, though she still wore her hesitation and brash anger on her sleeve for anyone to see just by looking at her. And although he had not meant to cause her pain by taking her initial acceptance of his presence in her mind as leave to go searching for the true reason behind her decision to turn away from the only life she had ever known, he found that her sudden decision to acquiesce to such a thing was more than enough to prompt him to search her mind as thoroughly as he could.

Or at least it had prompted him to do so until he came across the memory that even he wished he had not seen.

"You would be wise to keep adding to the enchantments," He advised, aware of the soft snort of derision that came from where Aurora stood behind him, and yet choosing to ignore it in favor of turning to face her one final time, his expression softening just a bit before he spoke once more, "I will not allow you to die as—as she did, Aurora. Take care of yourself."

Opening her mouth to stop him as he placed his hand upon the door, and stepped out into the night, Aurora found the gesture rendered useless as the sound of a soft crack reached her ears, and he disappeared from view altogether. A sigh escaped her in response, while she moved to the front door, and secured it in his wake once more. But whether she wished he would have stayed, if for no other reason than to apologize for her harsh response to his presence in her mind, Aurora knew that he would never have accepted it, anyway.

Their relationship, such as it was, had never been easy, but she had always known when to press Severus, and when it was wiser to simply leave him be.

With such a thought in mind, Aurora turned from the door, and headed back into the den, her fingers tracing over the spine of the book she had been reading as soon as she regained her seat upon the sofa, though she did not pick it up again. She could not possibly hope to focus, now. Not with what Severus had likely discerned in her mind—not with knowing that he was every bit as broken over Lily and James as she was even though he refused to show it. And so, she settled for simply reaching for his untouched tea, another sigh escaping as she brought the cup to her lips and prepared for the remainder of the evening to be spent lost in her own thoughts.

Whether she wished to or not, it did not seem as though she would be sleeping, tonight…

…


	6. The Prank

(13 January, 1976)

Classes had resumed with an unusual amount of extra homework, and Aurora had responded by sequestering herself in the common room every day after dinner in hopes of keeping up with it all. In truth, she was thankful for the extra work, as it gave her more than enough distraction to keep her thoughts from straying toward the events that had transpired over the holiday. Though she had known he had meant no harm by it, Remus' remark about Peter Pettigrew had stuck in her mind, no matter how fiercely she had tried to dislodge it. And although she had not wanted to, she could not help but see his actions while in her presence for the rest of the holiday in an entirely different light…

He did seem to carry an unusual sort of fervor in his eyes whenever he spoke to her while she sat with Sirius and his friends on occasion at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, and she had found herself withdrawing from her brother's little group more and more in response, such that by the end of the break, she spent her days almost exclusively on her own, huddled with her books in one of the armchairs before the Slytherin common room's fire.

It was there that Regulus had found her, so entirely absorbed in her Potions notes that she jumped and knocked over a fresh pot of ink she had set on the table beside her chair in case she discovered the need for a revision or two, her cheeks flushing as she glanced at the ink now seeping into the plush green carpeting for a moment, before a single wave of Reg's wand cleared it all up. His eyes met hers almost immediately, searching as though he thought he could find an answer for her apparent distraction through a single glance. But, when she almost immediately averted her gaze thereafter, he was forced to use other means, his voice soft, but obviously concerned as he leaned forward with both ends of his wand clutched between his hands while he spoke.

"You alright, Ro?"

"Yeah. Yeah, m'fine," Aurora said, her brow furrowing as she realized her voice had come out in a hoarse whisper, though she had not meant for that to be the case at all, "Just—just in my own head is all."

"Any particular reason why?"

"None that I can think of."

"Come on, Ro, be serious," Regulus persisted, eyeing his sister with a determined expression that had her frowning just a bit in response, though that was not enough to persuade him to stop pressing her for information, "I know you. I know when you're quiet and broody, you're keeping something to yourself."

"Quiet and broody?"

"It was the best way I could think to describe it at the time."

"Yeah, well, next time try a little better," Aurora quipped, unable to resist the slight tug of a grin at the corners of her lips, despite her reluctance to let Regulus in on the true reason behind her silence, "And for the record, I'm never broody."

"Right. And I'm Albus Dumbledore."

"Oh, well that explains a lot—"

"And you are deflecting," Regulus interjected, once again turning serious as he shifted just a bit on the armchair across from his sister, the flickering of the flames reflecting in her hazel eyes as she looked at him head-on for the first time since he had arrived, "Did something happen?"

"This is Hogwarts, Reg, something is always happening."

"I mean did something happen to you."

"No."

"Why don't I believe you?"

"No idea. But nothing did happen to me. At least—not—not directly," Aurora explained, somehow aware that if she persisted in the act of attempting to be elusive, she would only encourage Regulus to continue his interrogation until she gave in, "I just—I guess I learned about something I didn't expect."

"Are you ever going to tell me what this 'something' is? Or should I just start trying to guess?"

"It's just something that Remus told me. And before you say anything, he has no real reason to lie."

"Keep telling yourself that," Regulus retorted, the roll of the eyes he gave unmistakable as he fought against the instinctive desire he felt to attempt persuading Aurora to abandon their older brother and his friends altogether. Truth be told, he never understood her persistence in seeing the good in them. Not when they had all made no secret of exactly what they thought of him when he had tried to join their little group, himself. But no matter how many times he tried to get her to see their true colors, Aurora resisted, the only thing keeping her from spending absolutely all of her time trailing after them being her unwavering determination to eventually persuade them all to simply get along.

A foolish desire, really, but then Regulus had never had the heart to dash Aurora's hopes, no matter how ridiculous they might have been on the surface…

"He told me that—that Peter might—well, that he might fancy me," Aurora blurted then, her cheeks burning as she watched Regulus' expression as carefully as she could while her hands knitted themselves together in her lap, "Which is, of course, ridiculous—"

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure."

"Bloody hell, Reg, not you too."

"Yeah. Me too. It would take a blind person not to see how he ogles you," Regulus teased, the sudden shift in his demeanor prompting Aurora to eye him as though he had grown an extra set of hands, though that did not stop him from sending her a wink, and flopping back in his armchair more dramatically than she had ever seen him do before, "Might want to watch yourself when you're eating with Sirius and his gang, Ro. Ickle Petie-kins may slip a love potion in your pumpkin juice when you're not looking."

"Shush, Reg."

"Might do him some good, you know. A girl like you could be just the thing to toughen him up."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"Well—he's not exactly a candidate for bravest Gryffindor, is he?"

"Don't be mean," Aurora chastised, though even she could not entirely suppress the laugh that bubbled up as soon as Regulus gave her a rather exaggerated roll of the eyes once more, "I'm sure he's plenty brave."

"Defending your tawdry love already, then?"

"Who's this?"

Rocketing from the armchair in response to the voice, Aurora flinched against the renewed sensation of burning in her cheeks, her eyes meeting the familiar amber of her best friend's as he glanced between both Regulus, and herself while awaiting a reply. His expression was strangely stony, as though whatever of the conversation he had overheard was not what he had expected, at all. But before Aurora could do or say anything in an attempt at making that expression go away, Regulus was leaning forward with his elbows upon his knees, one brow lifted in open curiosity while he replied.

"Peter Pettigrew, apparently—OI! That's my shin!"

"You don't think I know that?" Aurora quipped, retracting her foot, and glancing back towards Barty, only to find herself frowning as his expression seemed to flicker between annoyance, and something else entirely, "Don't mind him, he's just making things up."

"Yeah, right."

"Reg, I swear, if you don't shut it right now—"

"Alright, alright, calm yourself down, Ro. No need to work yourself into a frenzy," Regulus teased, aware of the flicker of aggravation in his sister's hazel eyes, and yet choosing to fail to entirely suppress a snort of amusement at her expense, regardless s he stood to his full height, and made a show of brushing his hands off on the fabric of his trousers, "Was just leaving, anyway. You two, erm—have fun."

Watching as Regulus turned on a heel and headed for the door leading to the boy's dormitories, Aurora felt her heart hammering against her chest, her teeth worrying at her lower lip as she turned towards her friend once again, and all the breath left her lungs in response to the forced calm that became apparent in Barty's voice as he spoke.

"So—you and Pettigrew, then? Wouldn't have thought he was your type."

"I don't have a—a type."

"Tell that to your brother."

"Barty, I'm being serious," Aurora pleaded, silently cursing the wavering in her words, though she forced herself to straighten her spine, regardless, before going on, "I have absolutely no interest in him whatsoever."

"But he does in you."

"I don't know."

"Your brother seemed pretty convinced," Barty argued, risking a step or two towards Aurora, just in time to realize that the shimmering in her eyes was due to tears, and not the flickering flames of the fire as he had initially believed, "So you—you don't want him, then."

"Not in the slightest."

"Is he bothering you?"

"No."

"You're certain?"

"I am," Aurora swore, the barest hint of relief flooding through her frame as she watched her best friend step just a bit closer, all traces of his former aggravation disappearing in an instant as he seemed to instinctively reach for her hand, "In fact, he's never actually made the confession to me, himself."

"Who told you, then?"

"Remus."

"Oh," Barty murmured, dejection once again coloring his features for a moment, before he was shaking himself, and glancing down at where his fingers were now twined through Aurora's before going on, "You were with them over break?"

"When I wasn't attempting to get ahead in Potions, yeah."

"Well—maybe he was just making it up, then. Trying to see if he could get a rise out of you."

"What, to see if I'd confess my own undying devotion?" Aurora quipped, aware of the faintest flickers of a grin that tugged at the corner of Barty's lips, despite her attempt at narrowing her eyes to convey a seriousness that she did not really feel—not anymore, "Come off it."

"You really don't feel anything for him, then?"

"Barty, I've already told you. No. Never in a million years."

"Do you feel anything for—well—anyone else?"

"Do you?"

Obviously stunned by the immediate nature of her reply, Barty stood frozen in place for a moment, amber eyes blown wide in shock. Of course, he ought to have anticipated this—Aurora turning his own line of inquiry against him in an effort to preserve her own privacy. But regardless of how he knew she was only trying to divert attention from her own feelings, whatever they may be, that still did not stop him from acknowledging the faintest senses of panic at the thought that he had almost been forced to come up with a diversion of his own with not more than a split second's notice.

She could not know. She would never know.

He would not ruin their friendship with something he knew, somehow, that she could never return.

"Not a soul."

Whether she believed him or not, Aurora seemed content to allow the subject to drop, in the wake of Barty's response, her own gaze flicking down to where they were still holding hands while she chewed at the inside of her cheek. To be perfectly frank, she was startled at how easily she had calmed in the wake of his grabbing for her hand, though she would never admit to such a thing aloud.

She would never do anything to jeopardize what they had, now, even if it meant she remained alone for the rest of her days.

Steeled by such a thought, Aurora found herself capable of releasing Barty's hand and turning back towards the armchair she had previously occupied, aware that he had begun to follow after her so that he could perch on the edge of the one opposite her, as Regulus had mere moments ago. In truth, she was surprised to acknowledge that all of the turmoil she had felt thinking of Peter—of where her feelings truly resided—had all but faded away, her mind startlingly clear just through the reality of her best friend's presence. And before those troubling thoughts could return, Aurora found herself reaching for her Potions notes, once again, her eyes meeting Barty's with a lifted brow as she waved her notes at him, before she spoke.

"Care to help me study?"

"Of course."

"Slughorn? Or would you rather switch to something else?" Aurora pressed, ruffling the parchment she held in her hands, and smiling just a bit as she saw the almost carefree shrug that Barty had given her in response.

"Why don't you surprise me?"

It appeared that, at least for the moment, things between them were back to normal, and it would have been a lie for Aurora to pretend that she was not far more relieved by that realization than she truly thought she deserved.

…

(Little Whinging, 1981)

In the days that followed Severus' brief visit, Aurora had done her best to follow his instructions, reluctantly adding to the protective enchantments he had already cast about her home in spite of the fact that even the feel of her wand in her hand felt wrong, somehow, as though one false move would set the whole house ablaze. It troubled her, feeling so out of sorts using her magic, where before she had always been capable of casting spells without a hitch. But of course, whether it was easy for her or not, Aurora was determined to persist, regardless, if for no other reason than to prove to Severus that she was not as big a fool as he believed if he ever turned up again.

Their relationship had always been ambivalent, at best, but even she had to admit that particular remark of his had stung her pride.

Naturally, she knew she really shouldn't have expected anything different, not with how antagonistic Sirius had always been as far as Snape was concerned. By the time she had arrived at Hogwarts, the two had already been embroiled in what amounted to an all-out war, never capable of passing one another in the corridors without some sort of confrontation as a result. Surprisingly, Severus had managed to at least tolerate both her, and Regulus, in spite of it all, though the three of them had not exactly been what one might call fast friends. A fact that she attributed, rightly or wrongly, to the fact that all three of them were in the same house, and thus required to at least attempt to live in harmony, no matter their differences in opinion.

Still, she could remember the open astonishment on Sirius' face the first time she had dared to chastise him for taunting Severus as he was so often doing. The way he had looked at her as though she had suddenly grown a second head would likely be etched into her memory until the day she died. Never before had she ever given any inclination that she had thought him anything less than a perfect older brother and friend. And although they had moved on from that particular event, almost as though it had never even happened, Aurora was forced to wonder if, at least on some level, her doubt in Sirius, no matter how temporary, had served as the impetus for his decision to leave home for good.

With a sigh, however, Aurora did what she could to force herself away from such thoughts, her attention turning to the present once again as she moved back out onto the front lawn after stowing her wand away as safely as she could. The day was almost unseasonably cool, though the sunshine did what it could to warm her skin as she came to a stop dead-center in the grass, looking out on the street beyond. And, with arms crossed over her chest in a small attempt at keeping herself warm in response to the sudden flutter of wind that caused gooseflesh to erupt upon the skin of her arms, Aurora allowed her shoulders to relax as a soft exhalation left her lungs, only to find that something in the yard kitty-corner from her own had caught her attention from the corner of her eye.

A car had pulled into the drive of Number Four, the man who exited from the driver's side casting a furtive glance around the block for a moment before shutting his door and moving to the rear door to stoop inside. In next to no time at all, he was withdrawing a baby carrier and slamming the door behind him once again, only to hurry towards the front door as though the ground beneath his feet had turned to open flame. With brow furrowed, Aurora found herself almost instinctively stepping toward the edge of her own yard, her eyes watching the front door of Number Four intently as the man disappeared within.

So, this was the man Albus had told her was Harry Potter's uncle.

Poor boy…

Frowning as she mulled over what sort of life the child would have as he grew, with someone who seemed on the surface to be reluctant to acknowledge his entire existence to the rest of the world, Aurora turned to head back into her own home, trying, and utterly failing to avoid thinking of how the boy's situation reminded her so vividly of her own. Unbidden, a spasm of fear traced its way down her spine as she considered the potential implications of Harry growing up in a home where he was kept secret, as though he bore some communicable disease that one could catch simply by setting eyes on him. Somehow, she doubted allowing the boy to turn out like her was in Dumbledore's plans, though she still came up short every time she attempted to find a way to pay him any sort of a visit now without arousing suspicion. And, without any better idea at the moment, she found she could do nothing save for bide her time, and wait for any opportune moment as it came by.

She could only hope it came quickly enough for her to be able to do the boy any good.

…

(5 March, 1976)

Flinching at the sensation of a toe nudging gently against her shin, Aurora looked up from her History of Magic notes, one dark brow quirked in open curiosity as her eyes met the familiar amber of her best friend's gaze. Though it was a Saturday, she and Barty had been sequestered in the library since just after breakfast, studying and comparing notes. And now, it seemed, her companion had become distracted by the sharp creak of the library door, his gaze drifting towards it as a nervous looking Peter Pettigrew shuffled inside, and winced as the door gave a resounding snap behind him.

"Well—look who it is," Barty sneered, aware of Aurora's answering groan of frustration as she buried herself in her notes once again, and gave his shin a rather sharp kick of her own.

"Shut it, Barty. You know it's not like that."

"Try telling him that."

"Actually, I'd rather not talk to him at all," Aurora hissed, keeping her eyes fixed upon her notes despite the fact that her muted words hardly seemed to put a dent in her companion's desire to torment her.

"Might be difficult, Ro. He's looking right at you, like he might actually come over here if he can gather enough courage."

"Why do you insist on tormenting him, Barty? He's done nothing to you—"

"No, but it is rather fun to get a rise out of you."

"Well I'm glad to know someone is enjoying themselves," Aurora quipped, risking another glance towards the library door, and noticing that Peter appeared rooted to the spot for a moment, as though what Barty had said was actually true, "I, personally, think we'd both be better served by trying to get ahead in History of Magic."

"I thought you'd be happier if I tried to tease you about it," Barty pressed, aware of the faint scoff Aurora gave in response to the statement, and yet choosing to ignore it in favor of going on, "You seemed upset when—whenever I 'acted like a child' as you put it."

"This isn't acting like a child?"

"I didn't think so, no."

"That's interesting. Because I rather thought it was," Aurora snapped, a flicker of regret rising in the back of her mind as she looked at Barty once again, only to note that her friend appeared to have sobered rather quickly in the wake of her rather obvious aggravation. In truth, even she could not comprehend exactly why she was so upset at his antics, given that it had always been their nature to gently rib one another whenever a situation arose that warranted such behavior. But something about this particular line of teasing grated at her nerves, throwing into sharp relief the fact that he clearly did not seem to be aware of how the only person she would truly want to fancy her in 'that' way was him…

At times, Aurora wanted to scream at him that she would never see anyone else in that light, but then, she supposed, if Barty felt for her even a fraction of what she already seemed to for him, he would not have started to tease her about another boy in the first place.

"I think I'm going to try for studying on my own for a bit," She said then, shuffling her notes together, and pushing her chair back from the table with a resounding scrape even though Barty had almost immediately reached for her arm to stop her, "Really, Barty, just—let me go."

"Aurora, I'm sorry—"

"Don't be. I just—I need a moment or two to myself, okay?"

Before he could say or do anything to further waylay her, Aurora swept towards the library door, only managing the faintest of nods in acknowledgement of Peter's presence before she was pushing through the doors and allowing them to slam shut behind her without a thought of what reaction such a thing might provoke from anyone attempting to study within. Though she did her best to dash them away before any passersby in the hall could see them, the girl was not unaware of the sting of frustrated tears as they pooled in her eyes and tracked down her cheeks. Were she being honest with herself, she almost wished that she could go back to that night over the holiday break, and make it so that Remus' confession about Peter's supposed interest in her might never have happened. But of course, she could not. No one could.

She would just have to deal with the reality of the situation, she supposed, and hope that eventually Barty would give up on teasing her for it for good.

Her own personal feelings aside, she hated the thought of losing his friendship, and she knew, somehow, that if she did not either find a way to convince him to forget about Peter altogether, or suppress her own response to his teasing, she just might.

…..

Some time later, after having ventured down to the lake to finish her studying, Aurora found herself making the trek back towards the castle on her own, a shiver passing through her frame in response to the cool breeze that rustled the grass as the sun rapidly sank below the horizon. She had not meant to stay out of doors so long, of course, but something about the peace and quiet, and the way the sun had cast sparkling reflections of its light on the surface of the lake had calmed her as nothing else could, and so she had remained in place with her notes and her books, until the aggravated grumbling of her stomach finally broke her concentration and alerted her to the fact that she had not, in fact, eaten a thing since earlier that morning.

With such a realization, Aurora had decided to venture back inside at long last, in hopes of obtaining some dinner. A part of her was still apprehensive, of course, given that she had every reason to believe that in so doing, she would eventually be forced to face Barty after her little outburst in the library, and hope that he had not really taken offense, no matter how that may have been precisely what she deserved. But before she had the opportunity to consider exactly how she planned to go about explaining that particular ordeal without giving too much away, Aurora found herself startled out of her own musings by the sharp sound of someone calling her name, her gaze snapping around towards the direction from which she had just come in time to see James Potter bolting her way, waving his arms frantically as though he thought that alone would persuade her to stop.

"Aurora! Aurora, wait up!" He called, breathing heavily as he came to a stop at Aurora's side, his cheeks flushed as a result of his exertions, "You—we need you—"

"Need me for what?" Aurora cut in, a strange sensation bubbling in the pit of her stomach as she took in the harried expression James wore, and almost immediately fought against the shiver that raced its way down her spine in response, "James, what's going on?"

"It's—it's Sirius."

"What?"

"It's Sirius," James repeated, watching as Aurora's skin paled almost immediately, and reaching out to steady her as she swayed unknowingly on her feet, "And Snivel—er—Snape."

"James, would you just spit it out?" Aurora demanded, the strange feeling in her stomach coalescing into a sudden panic, and making her voice go shrill in spite of her desire to avoid such a thing. Part of her wanted to believe that Sirius was simply up to his usual antics, even in spite of James' rather genuine appearance of abject horror and concern. But something instinctive all but screamed at her that was not the case. Not this time.

A fact that James only confirmed when he reached for Aurora's hand and said the words that had her heart stuttering to a near stop within her chest, before he was tugging her off towards the Whomping Willow, and all thought of finding dinner fled her mind.

"He's told Snape how to get past the Whomping Willow, and Remus is down there, now!"

Just when she didn't think the day could have gotten any worse…

…


	7. The Fallout

(1 September, 1978)

Aurora followed along after her mother at King's Cross Station, her eyes downcast as she did her best to avoid looking at anyone that passed her by. In truth, her mind was a thousand miles away, her expression drawn, and her lips pursed into a persistent frown. And although she knew she ought to have been eager to board the train, and leave home for the refuge that Hogwarts had come to be, Aurora could not summon the enthusiasm that she used to hold for such an event, her expression remaining distant as she came to a stop behind her mother as soon as she realized the older woman had stopped moving, her narrowed eyes coming to rest upon her daughter as she leaned forward just enough so that she might whisper without fear of being overheard.

"You will say nothing of what happened to anyone, Aurora. Promise me."

"I won't," The young woman assured, her tone hollow, as though every last hope she had had been sucked away, leaving nothing but an empty shell in its place, "I won't damage the family's reputation."

"I will not have your cheek, girl—"

"This is not 'cheek', Mother."

"Then how else would you describe it?" Walburga hissed, risking a glance at their surroundings to ensure no one passing by was paying too close attention to their interaction, and reaching forward to curl bony fingers around her daughter's wrist once she was assured that no one had given them anything more than a passing glance, "How would you describe your snide remarks?"

"I was simply telling you I would do as you said."

"Oh, I very much doubt that."

"Doubt all you like. It is the truth," Aurora murmured, honestly not caring how her mother would interpret the remark as she found herself capable of tugging her wrist away from the older woman's grasp, just as the sound of the train's whistle split through the air, "I should go."

"Not a word, Aurora—"

"Not a word."

Turning from her mother, and heading towards the gathering throng of fellow students that were preparing to board the Hogwarts Express, Aurora was only barely aware of Regulus' presence at her side, her eyes once again rooting themselves to the cement beneath her feet as they slowly made their way towards the compartment doors. She could feel the presence of the other students surrounding her, a suffocating sort of weight that she could not dislodge, no matter how fiercely she tried to do exactly that. But no matter how badly she wanted to simply turn and run until she could finally—mercifully—be on her own, Aurora forced herself to continue moving forward, one trembling hand resting on the railing as she boarded the train, while she simultaneously became aware of the gentle pressure of Regulus' hand upon the small of her back to guide her, as well.

As soon as she was able, Aurora found herself flinching away from the gesture, the spasm of pain that made itself known on her brother's features causing her heart to twist within her chest, despite her lingering anger and disappointment over knowing exactly what he had done. Ever since she could remember, he had been her best friend. Her rock. A safe place to run, when nothing seemed to be going her way. But now, she felt as though she barely knew the man her brother had become, her steps carrying her away from him, and to an empty compartment as she hoped he would take the hint, and simply leave her to her own devices.

After having closed the compartment door behind her, and sinking into the seat such that she could lean against the window watching the lingering students on the pavement, below, Aurora curled her body in on itself and did her best to simply remember how to breathe. She knew her mother had meant what she said. That she was to tell no one what had happened, regardless of whether the act of letting it out into the open would help her deal with the event or not. In truth, she hardly understood it, herself, everything still having the tendency to blur together until it became far more trouble than it was worth to try and recollect anything at all. Her muscles still burned, on occasion, as though some sort of fire were trapped inside of her, just longing to break free again. But no matter how much something instinctive inside of her all but demanded that she simply give in, and allow whatever it was the freedom it so desired, Aurora resisted, her teeth grinding together as though the act would keep her grounded, when her force of will alone was incapable.

It would have been a lie to pretend that she was not abundantly grateful to be alone in her compartment, as the train gave a sudden jerk and began to pull away from the station, the people rushing along in its wake to wave goodbye to their family on board rather rapidly fading away, replaced by the sight of wide open skies, and green grass whizzing by as the train picked up speed. It was so easy to get lost in the view, something not all that far from numbness settling into Aurora's mind as she did her best to focus on what her eyes could see, gazing outside of the train's window, instead of dwelling on things that she could not fully recall. Losing herself in that task had given her a sort of escape, in spite of the fact that she could never have anticipated it being so, at all. But of course, that was before the soft squeak emitted by the compartment door sliding open reached her ears, her muscles tensing as she turned to see who had intruded upon her solitude, only to find her heart very nearly seizing in panic as she recognized the familiar appearance of the very person she had been trying so valiantly to avoid.

"There you are," The newcomer intoned, his words soft as he closed the compartment door behind him once again, and almost immediately frowned upon seeing the haggard and surprisingly guarded expression upon Aurora's face in the same motion, "What—Ro, what is it? What's wrong?"

"I can't—Barty, I can't tell you."

"Course you can. We tell each other everything, don't we?" Barty encouraged, taking a seat beside the young woman, and settling for reaching for her hand, as she had pulled away upon realizing his first desire would have been to wrap an arm about her shoulders, "Come on, Ro. I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on."

"I don't think you could help me, even if I did," Aurora finally managed, keeping her eyes fixed upon the way Barty's fingers twined through her own, in hopes that by avoiding a direct look at his face, she would have a better chance at maintaining her composure despite the fact that she could already feel it hanging on by a thread, "I just—the last week of summer holiday was—"

"Rough?"

"You have no idea."

"Your parents?"

"The entire family."

"Even Reg?" Barty inquired, his fingers giving Aurora's smaller hand a squeeze that seemed enough to prompt her to finally meet his eyes head-on. What he saw when she did was all but heartbreaking, her usually warm hazel eyes now a deadened sort of brown, as though she held the weight of the world upon her shoulders, and there was no relief in sight. And although every single instinct he possessed wanted to pull her into his arms, if for no other reason than to give her a reason to let some of that burden free, Barty resisted, knowing full-well that if Aurora wanted such a thing, she would have already sought it out for herself.

"Yeah. Even Reg," She finally confirmed, her shoulders curving inward as she shifted to allow the position of her hand that was still firmly clutched in Barty's to become more comfortable, and frowning a bit as the act caused her thigh to press against his in response, "He—I feel like I don't even know him, anymore."

"Can you tell me why?"

Shaking her head, and biting at her lower lip as she realized the strange stinging sensation at the corners of her eyes was in fact a sign of impending tears, Aurora struggled to swallow past the lump that had formed in her throat, as if sheer force of will alone could keep her intact. Everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours had been kept at the outside of her mind, somehow, though she could not entirely understand how she was capable of doing such a thing when all that she wanted, now, was to simply let go. And whether she knew that Barty would likely feel as though he failed her in some way if he could not help her in that process, Aurora was also poignantly aware that if she told him one of the things that had gone wrong in the past day, she would soon be telling him everything—

And regardless of the promise she had been forced to make her mother prior to boarding the train, Aurora was not at all willing to disclose everything that had troubled her in such a short period of time, particularly the bit of news that had sent her entire world reeling away from its moorings so quickly that she could almost still feel her head spinning as a result.

She could not tell him that she essentially belonged to another man, now. Not when all that she wanted was to ignore that reality, and live in the foolish dream she had created of a world where they could be together with no one saying a word of protest at all.

With such a reality before her, Aurora was left with nothing else to do but finally accept the previous offer inherent in Barty's attempt at curling an arm around her shoulder, her body sinking against his as he leaned back against the seat they occupied, while keeping his other hand clutched around her own. Though he was still very much troubled at the idea of whatever had happened while they had been apart, as it was clearly so terrible that Aurora was reluctant to tell him at all, he was also more than a little relieved that she had at least acquiesced to taking whatever small comfort he could offer, his arm tightening around her now trembling shoulders, while his mouth brushed against her dark hair.

Whether she told him of what had transpired since they had last seen each other in the near future, or at a much later date, Barty was determined to stand by her side, no matter what happened in the meantime…

But neither one of them could ever have hoped to have a full understanding of what was to come, and it would come very close to being their undoing.

…

(Little Whinging, 1981)

Stood on the porch of the young woman who had made such an effort to befriend her not long after she moved into the house on Privet Drive, Aurora held the plate Ellie had given her that was now full of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, the fingers of her free hand lifting for just long enough to ring the doorbell, before her hand fell back to her side, so that she could drum her fingers against the fabric of her jeans. She did not have long to wait before the door was swinging open, revealing her neighbor with wide blue eyes, and long blonde hair done up in a messy bun, while the soft sounds of a Muggle band Aurora dimly recognized echoed from farther off down the hall. And, before she could lose her nerve, she was pressing the plate of cookies into Ellie's waiting hands, a half-smile upon her lips as she managed a tentative shrug before she spoke.

"Sorry for taking so long to return the plate—I wanted to think of something good to give you in return for those muffins."

"You liked them, then?"

"More than just a bit," Aurora admitted, surprised at the genuine smile that sprang to Ellie's lips in response as she stepped back from her open doorway and gestured for her to step into the foyer, herself, "Hopefully you feel the same about the cookies. I haven't—I haven't exactly baked anything in a while."

"Well, they smell absolutely amazing," Ellie enthused, carrying the tray of cookies into her small kitchen, and finding herself rather more than a little pleased that Aurora seemed to follow after her readily enough, "You don't mind if I try one now, do you? I haven't actually eaten anything yet, today."

"No, not at all!"

"Good. Feel free to take one, yourself, of course—"

"Oh, no. It's the mark of a poor baker to sample her wares," Aurora teased, surprising herself with the free laugh that she allowed as soon as she registered Ellie's own amusement in response to her remark, "You didn't—you really haven't eaten anything yet?"

"I only just got home from the hospital," The blonde confessed, noticing the startled expression that passed across her neighbor's features, and hurrying to reassure her before she could gather the wrong impression, entirely, "Not for myself! I—I work there. I'm a doctor."

"Oh. Oh, that's—that's impressive!"

"You really think so?"

"How could I not?"

"Well, it just seems fairly routine, to be honest," Ellie said, shrugging as she bit into the cookie she had plucked from the plate, and closing her eyes to emit a happy sigh as she chewed and swallowed with a soft hum of pleasure, "Wow. You, my friend, have a gift in the kitchen."

"As do you."

"Mm—no. No, I think these cookies are better than any muffin I've ever made."

"I hope you can forgive me, then, if I say I don't believe you," Aurora protested, flushing a bit in response to the compliment Ellie had given her, and glancing at the plate of cookies upon the kitchen counter, for a moment, before going on, "Those things were positively sinful."

"So are these."

"Thank you."

"Any time. Would you—would you like some tea? We could move into the den—" Ellie suggested, then, her hesitation making itself apparent in the slight waver to her voice, as she found herself wondering if her somewhat cautiously distant neighbor would agree to the offer of tea and further conversation, or if she would wish to make a hasty retreat to the confines of her own home. It had not taken her very long to realize that Aurora was a woman with secrets, and that she appeared inclined to guard those secrets to her last breath. And while she obviously understood that everyone had a right to their own privacy, and that there were literally no two people who processed things in the same way, Ellie could not help but worry that Aurora's manner of clinging to every last detail of her persona was far more detrimental to her than it was protective.

She had clearly made a habit of being so guarded that it had left her with nothing but a fierce desire to isolate herself from just about anyone that even tried to come into her life, and Ellie was all but determined to attempt to make herself the exception to that rule.

She, perhaps more than anyone, knew exactly how valuable a friend could be, and she was not about to deny Aurora that same opportunity if she had anything to say about it.

"I wouldn't want to trouble you," Aurora replied, then, her words effectively startling Ellie back out of her own internal musings, and causing her to direct a warm smile toward her companion before she shook her head, and almost immediately countered her neighbor's worry with an assurance of her own.

"If it was a trouble, love, I wouldn't have offered."

"Fair enough. I suppose that means my answer is a yes, then."

"Good. Why don't you go and get yourself settled, and I'll see about the tea," Ellie suggested, gesturing toward the doorway at the far end of the kitchen, and finding herself more than a little pleased that Aurora seemed to readily move off in that direction, while she set about filling the kettle with water to boil, before rummaging in the cupboard above the stove for the tea bags. Of course, she knew she had a long way to go, to make any sort of headway in earning her newfound neighbor's trust, and friendship, too, if she could be so lucky. But regardless of how much effort it took, she was determined to show the brunette that was now headed into her den that in spite of her own misgivings, perhaps letting someone in was not all that terrible of a decision as she seemed to believe.

Even only just having met her, Ellie could tell that Aurora was a woman with so much to offer, and she would be damned if she didn't give the young woman the chance to do exactly that, no matter how many road blocks she instinctively threw up along the way.

…

(5 March, 1976)

In the aftermath of James dragging her down to the Whomping Willow, in the hopes that they could somehow devise a way to stop Severus before he came upon Remus in mid-transformation, Aurora found herself once again standing by the surface of the lake, the chilly night wind ruffling tendrils of her hair, and causing her to shiver in response. Severus stood beside her, his expression impassive, and his skin paler than its usual hue, though his eyes did not betray a hint of the fear he must surely have felt, witnessing what he had. And although Aurora knew that she was playing with fire, trying to even begin to talk to him about what had just transpired, and the utter importance of keeping it a secret, she was powerless to stop trying, her smaller frame turning towards her companion's as she summoned the wherewithal to break the silence between them for the first time since they had arrived at the lake.

"Sev—you can't—you can't say anything about this—"

"After what they did? You're barking!"

"Only I'm not," Aurora pressed, a spasm of nerves causing her stomach to twist as she dropped her arms to her sides, even in the wake of the renewed breeze that ruffled at her hair and her clothes as well, "Please, Sev—I know you don't like them—"

"That would be the understatement of the century."

"But this goes so much farther beyond any petty quarrels—"

"That is what you call this? A petty quarrel?" Severus exclaimed, disbelief coloring his tone as he whirled to face his companion, and noticed her almost automatic flinch backwards in response to the volume of his retort, "They deliberately led me to where they knew, full well, that—that—monster was!"

"Don't say that. Please don't call him that," Aurora begged, her voice cracking in spite of her desire to keep her emotions in check, though she was miraculously still capable of keeping her frustrated tears at bay in favor of going on, "This isn't Remus' fault."

"No, you're right. It's your brother's. And you really are mad if you think I'm not going straight to the headmaster with this to get him expelled."

"But you can't! You can't, because if you did, and the real reason why got out—"

"You really think I give a damn if the rest of the school knows we've been harboring a—a freak—a dangerous animal, on the grounds?"

"You should. You should, Severus, because regardless of whether he poses a risk or not, Remus Lupin has never once done a thing to you to make you hate him so much."

"That's exactly it. He hasn't done a thing," Severus spat, turning away from Aurora and facing the lake once again, his gaze hardening as though a single gust of wind would shatter him entirely, "He just sits by, and lets the rest of his little gang do whatever they want."

"And you seem to be forgetting that one of the members of that gang just saved your life."

"Is that what you're calling it?"

"It is," Aurora confirmed, stepping just a bit closer to her taller companion, and ignoring the shiver of apprehension that rolled through her as he turned his gaze upon her and she noted nothing but disdain, "James knew exactly what—what Sirius had done, and he wanted to make it right."

"Well maybe he got there too late."

"Sev—"

"Don't, Aurora. Don't try to defend them when you know they don't come close to deserving it," Severus hissed, yanking his arm away as he realized that Aurora had moved to place her hand upon it, and hardly even noticing when his response to the gesture caused her to chew worriedly at her lip for a moment before she replied.

"What do you want me to do, then?"

"What?"

"I said what do you want me to do?" Aurora questioned, once again folding her arms over her chest in a defensive gesture as soon as she realized that all of her attempts at persuading her companion to see her side of things had failed, and would likely continue to do so, no matter how hard she tried for the opposite, "What can I do to help you?"

"You really want to know?"

"Yes."

"Don't try to be her."

"What?"

"Don't try to be her," Severus repeated, stealing a glance at Aurora from out of the corner of his eye, and realizing that it took her a moment before her eyes had widened, showing her realization of exactly what he meant, such that he did not have to actually say her name, "Don't because you—you can't. No one can."

"She still—she's not speaking with you, then?"

"No. And I doubt that—I doubt that she ever will, again."

Saddened by the confession, and yet finding that she was not exactly surprised, in spite of it, given what she knew of the event that had transpired, Aurora could do nothing save for remain silent, in that moment, her frown deepening as she followed her companion's gaze as he looked back out over the lake. If the situation had been any different, they could have just been two friends spending a quiet evening together before returning back indoors, and to their studies. But the ordeal they were enduring now was far from being that simple, and Aurora would have been a liar to pretend she did not feel more than a little discouraged that nothing would ever be the same between them, again.

"I think you should go back up to the school now, Aurora," Severus said, then, the softer sound to his voice startling Aurora as she tore her gaze away from the lake once again, and looked at him directly, instead, "I just—I think I'll be better off down here on my own."

"You—are you sure?" Aurora inquired, her tone skeptical, to say the least, as she did what she could to force herself not to succumb to the urge to press upon him the necessity of remaining silent about what had just transpired once again. She knew that it would do no good. That it would only make him angrier if she persisted in what he so clearly saw as a vain attempt to defend her brother and his friends for all of the hardships they had ever inflicted upon him since they met in their first year. And so, she persisted in keeping silent, despite how anxious the prospect of him going to anyone about what had happened made her, her eyes meeting Severus' as he gave her a simple nod, and she was left with nothing to do but turn and head back towards the school in response.

She did not know how she was supposed to face Sirius in the wake of what he had done, but she felt still worse when she considered the prospect of enduring the consequences of his expulsion, instead.

Still, she forced herself to continue on towards the school, regardless, her footsteps heavy, to say the least as she was given ample time to consider her disappointment in her eldest brother's actions now that she was not absorbed in trying to deter Severus from doing anything rash. Ever since she could remember, she had always idolized Sirius, toddling around after him almost as soon as she could walk in an effort to stay as close as possible to him for as long as she could. And, even in the face of his eventual distance from Regulus, and her own growing bond with their middle sibling, Aurora had always felt like Sirius was her first true friend…

A fact that made his apparent decision to endanger a fellow classmate's life with a ridiculous prank all the more painful, as she realized perhaps he was not the man she had always believed he was.

Shaking her head as she struggled to reconcile that single act with the brother she had adored and placed on a pedestal for so very long, Aurora realized with a jolt that she had already approached the stairs, her feet taking to the task of trudging up to the castle doors while she remained lost within her own thoughts. In truth, she was dreading the following day at breakfast, knowing that she would not be able to escape her brother, or his friends. And although some small part of her was all but tempted to tell Sirius exactly how she felt about his foolish attempt at taunting the apparently permanent target of his jokes, she was not entirely sure that she could with Remus looking on, as well.

As much as she hated the idea of allowing Sirius to think she actually approved of his actions, she would be damned if she let Remus think that she blamed him in any way for them, as well.

Stymied, to say the least, over exactly what she was supposed to do to even begin to rectify the situation, Aurora moved through the front hall of the school in a daze, only dimly aware of the other people milling about, either en route to the library, or back to their dormitories for the remainder of the evening. Suddenly, she found she was nothing short of exhausted, the adrenaline of the past few hours leaving her in a rush so that she was left with nothing but a hollow feeling in its place. And although she knew that she would be far better served attempting to get a head start on some of the massive amounts of homework her teachers had assigned that day, Aurora knew that she would be much more likely to simply collapse into her bed, and sleep.

She could only hope that as soon as she laid her head down, she would actually be capable of shutting her eyes…

…


	8. Unwelcome Revelation

(12 September, 1978)

"You seem to be feeling better," A voice said, coming from somewhere to her left, and effectively startling Aurora from her haphazard stare at the parchment resting on her legs such that she very nearly upended the entire stack and caused it to fall off of her lap in response. She only just managed to avoid such a thing by snapping out a hand to latch onto the sheets while her posture straightened in the same motion. But regardless of how much some small part of her wanted to tell whoever had spoken to go away, she resisted, her eyes glancing away from her parchment in favor of looking at the person who had distracted her, instead, before she spoke.

"I am. Thank you."

"Don't tell me you actually missed the homework—"

"Would you judge me too terribly if I did?"

"Never."

"Barty—"

"I mean it. Never," Her companion insisted, sitting down in the armchair beside her own, and leaning over the arm to peer at the parchment she held so tightly in hand, "Can I ask just one question, though?"

"Something tells me you will, whether I want you to or not."

"Why the bloody hell did you decide to start the evening with notes for Professor Binns?"

"Perhaps because he's already decided to give us mountains of homework," Aurora supplied, quirking a brow at her companion, and shifting so that despite being in two separate chairs, their heads were bowed together, a mere hairsbreadth apart such that they could both see the parchment clearly, "And perhaps because I thought it was better to rip the band-aid off now, rather than leave it all for the weekend."

"Wise choice."

"I thought so."

"Still, I thought you would be more inclined to start with Potions. Or is Slughorn no longer your favorite?"

"He is. But his assignments are always so much more—"

"Entertaining?" Barty mused, somewhat pleased that his remark had earned him a faint flash of a smile from his companion, though it was not the full-fledged amusement he had hoped for, "Stimulating? I could keep going—"

"Please don't."

"Aurora—"

"Please," The girl repeated, hazel eyes shining as she forced herself to look her friend in the eye, if for no other reason than so that he could see she was still not entirely herself, "I—I'm sorry, Barty, but I do not think I am entirely willing to forget what happened before start of term."

"You mean what you still will not talk to me about."

"For good reason."

"I see no good reason for you to believe you could not trust me with the truth," Barty argued, frowning at the unfamiliar expression that had stolen over Aurora's features, and reaching out for her hand, only to find that she had flinched away in response, "You can, Aurora. You know you can."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because—because if I did tell you, it would—it would ruin everything," Aurora confessed, hating the way in which her voice seemed to crack around the words, and averting her eyes as the prick of tears made itself known to her in mere moments, as well, "And I can't—I need to know you're on my side."

"I'm always on your side, Ro."

"You may not be, once you know the truth."

"Why would you say that?"

"Perhaps because even I do not fully understand what it is that I would have to tell you. How can I explain something when I hardly know where to begin?"

"Try. Try, Aurora," Barty begged, once again reaching for her hand, and this time successfully taking hold before she had the chance to pull away, "Please, try."

"I can't. I can't. Not when I would lose you if I told you everything."

"You won't lose me," Barty assured, frowning as Aurora wrenched her hand away from his own, and hurried to stand after gathering the loose sheets of parchment together so they would not fall to the floor. Within seconds, she had skirted around the armchair she formerly occupied, and began to head towards the stairwell leading to the girl's dormitories, instead. A strange sort of panic settled over him in response, as though he had suddenly begun to fear that if she retreated up those steps, he may just have lost her for good. But before he could say or do anything to keep her with him in the common room, instead of allowing her to run away, Barty found himself rooted to the spot by the sound of a broken sob, the knowledge that it had come from Aurora, herself only paralyzing him further as he came to the unfortunate realization that perhaps there was truly nothing he could do for her, now, regardless of how much he may want to…

For the first time in their years of friendship, he could not reach her, and that hurt him far more than anything else ever could.

…

Some days later, Aurora lingered behind the rest of her fellow students in the Potions classroom, her hands dawdling in the act of cleaning up her desk in hopes that she might find the courage to ask Professor Slughorn the question that had been nagging at her ever since the start of term. She was aware, of course, that asking anyone would be a direct betrayal of the request her mother had made of her. That if Walburga Black ever found out, the punishment would surely be severe. But even in the face of that awareness, Aurora could not keep her fears and apprehensions at bay any longer, her lips thinning into a line as she registered the sound of footsteps approaching, and forced herself to look Professor Slughorn in the eyes as he drew to a stop beside her, and placed what was clearly meant to be a comforting hand upon her shoulder.

"Ah, Miss Black. We missed you at Slug Club the other day—"

"Forgive me, Professor. I wasn't feeling well."

"Something the matter, my dear?" Slughorn queried, stooping with a soft groan to sit in the desk beside his student, and regarding her with some curiosity as he noted she seemed to be at odds with herself, as though she wanted to speak, but did not quite know what to say. Since the start of term, he had noticed a curious sort of detachment in this prized pupil, and it had troubled him, despite not having the faintest clue of how to go about fixing it. And so, now that she remained behind in his classroom, rather than venturing down to the Great Hall with the rest of her classmates for lunch, Slughorn knew that if he were to have any chance at helping her, as she so fervently seemed to hope he would, he had to act now.

It was unlike her to be so withdrawn, and regardless of how many times he may tell himself he did not get involved in the personal affairs of his students—not after what had happened with one student in particular so many years ago—it would have been a lie to pretend that seeing Aurora's discomfort did not pain him deeply.

"I—yes," Aurora finally managed, her fingernail digging into a groove in the wood of her desk, while her eyes followed the idle movement in hopes that glancing away from Slughorn's face would give her the time to formulate some manner of explanation for her decision to seek him out in the first place, "I cannot really decide how best to explain."

"Perhaps if you start where you feel most comfortable, that may be best, my dear."

"Perhaps. It's just—please, Professor, you must promise me you won't see me differently once you know the truth."

"Why of course I won't!" Slughorn exclaimed, his brow furrowing as he regarded the young woman's expression of clear indecision, and hoping that the tone of his voice alone would convey his sincerity, as he did not know if reaching for her hand would be a welcome decision, on its own, "I've had the pleasure of teaching you for years, child. To say anything other than that you are a remarkable student, and a truly gifted witch would be a lie."

"I—thank you, Professor."

"Don't mention it. Now—what is it that you wish to tell me?"

"Something happened, before start of term," Aurora began, her tongue darting out to wet her lips for a moment before she exhaled, squared her shoulders, and forced herself to meet Slughorn's gaze head-on once more, "It was after—after I received some distressing news."

"What news was that, my dear?"

"It doesn't—that doesn't matter. Not really. What matters is—is what happened after I heard it."

"What happened?" Slughorn inquired as gently as he could, watching Aurora's reaction very carefully, and feeling the slightest hints of relief as he saw that the question did not cause her to withdraw as he had initially feared. It was true that she still exhibited some reluctance to be fully forthcoming, as though she hardly dared to believe anyone could hear what she had to say and not think differently of her afterwards. But some sort of innate desperation to get this thing—whatever it was—off her chest seemed to win out over any apprehension she might also possess, her face paling a bit as she swallowed once, before starting to speak once again.

"I can't—I can't fully explain it. What happened," She began, her brow furrowed as she struggled to come up with the adequate words for what she had gone through, and felt herself falling short before she could even begin, "But it was almost—almost as though I was burning from the inside out."

"Burning—"

"Yes. And—and I sort of lost track of reality, as well."

"What do you mean by that, my dear?"

"I mean—I mean that I—sort of blacked out. And when I came to, again, I was in the hospital."

"Oh dear," Slughorn murmured, finally succumbing to the desire to reach for Aurora's hand, and finding himself relieved that she did not immediately pull away as he went on speaking. Though he could not be too sure, he suspected the true nature of what had happened to his pupil, her description, as sparse as it was not lessening the likeness to an event that was every bit as fascinating to him as it was rare. He had always prided himself in being something of an expert in rare magical conditions and maladies, though now that one of them appeared likely to be affecting one of his favorite students, he almost wished that he was not. But the fact of the matter remained that Aurora's admission was far too similar to something he knew of only barely, his expression shifting into a frown as he regarded the young woman sat beside him for a moment before coming to the realization that she was breaking the silence as tentatively as though she feared retribution for doing so.

"Do you—do you know what it is? What it means?" She asked, her words tremulous, as though she was still reluctant to hear the truth, if he would tell her, despite having come to ask the question of him in the first place, "Because my—my mother would not tell me, and the healer I saw at the hospital only said that it was very rare—"

"I do know, my dear. Or at least, I think that I do," Slughorn admitted, his tone of almost sorrowful reluctance prompting a shiver to trace its way down Aurora's spine, though she did her best to hold his gaze with her own, regardless, "If I am right, your healer knew precisely what this was, as well."

"Tell me. Please, Professor—please, tell me."

"I will tell you, my girl. I will. But only if you promise me one thing, in return," The professor bargained, knowing that Aurora's acceptance of what he intended to propose was the only way for her to begin to fight what had happened to ensure it did not happen again. If he was right—and he would have been a liar to pretend that in spite of the allure of such a rarity within his grasp, he did not wish with all that he had that he was wrong—Slughorn knew that they would have very little time to keep this unstable force at bay, before it destroyed the young woman before him as easily as fire destroyed a decaying forest…

He could not allow her to succumb to its power. Not when doing so would mean the end for not only this young woman who seemed to hold so much promise, but for several others nearby if her as yet untamed power could not be brought to heel.

"What is it?" Aurora repeated a second time, her hazel eyes shimmering with the reflected light of the candles surrounding the perimeter of the dungeon classroom, the pleading for honesty that was so apparent in her gaze prompting Slughorn to feel genuine regret that what he had to tell her would change her life, for good.

"My dear, I—I am afraid what you describe can only mean one thing. It will require more research of course, but—"

"But what?"

"What you describe sounds to me as though you may just be—an Obscurial."

…

(Little Whinging, 1988)

Aurora sat on the stoop of her home on Privet Drive, the late summer breeze ruffling her dark hair as she rested her arms atop her knees, and simply savored the warmth of the setting sun as its rays shone upon her skin. In truth, she felt warm—content—for the first time in what must have been ages, despite her circumstances, and what she had been sent here to do. And it was for that very reason that she remained where she was, in spite of the fact that she knew the very child she was supposed to keep her presence hidden from was ambling down the sidewalk towards her home, his dark hair blowing about in the wind as he fiddled with the overly long sleeve of his shirt.

Today was his birthday, she knew, and it would have been a lie to pretend that the idea of him out wandering about the neighborhood on his own pained her more than she cared to admit.

Still, Aurora was determined to attempt keeping to at least part of her promise to Dumbledore, her body stilling in hopes that she would remain unseen as the boy passed her by. Of course, she truly ought to have realized that the son of Lily and James Potter would not have been so easily fooled, particularly as he seemed to have very little in the way of constant companionship in the home of his aunt and uncle. But regardless of what she did or did not want, Aurora found herself surprised by the sudden realization that a vibrant pair of hauntingly familiar green eyes were now riveted upon her as he stood motionless at the end of the walk that led down to the street from her porch, her own gaze holding that of the young boy's for a moment before he spoke in a hesitant tone that all but shattered her resolve to keep her distance then and there.

"H—hello."

"Hello, yourself," Aurora replied, a smile toying at the edges of her mouth as she tilted her head to the side, and watched as the boy seemed to waver on his feet as though uncertain about whether or not he should tarry, or move on, "Lovely day, isn't it?"

"It—yes. Yes, it is."

"Such a shame the both of us seem to be spending it alone."

"Oh, I don't mind. Not really," The boy assured, his words seeming almost hurried, as though he believed that saying anything else would earn him a punishment he wanted to avoid, "I like being outside near sunset. Always have."

"Me, as well," Aurora admitted, shifting to the side so that there would be room for her newfound companion to sit beside her on the stoop if he liked, and patting the concrete so that he would know that the offer was genuine, "Perhaps we might enjoy it more if we had a little company?"

"I don't want to be any trouble—"

"Trust me. You are the farthest thing from 'trouble' that I have ever seen."

"You're sure?" The boy persisted, green eyes sparkling behind his taped glasses, as though the prospect of sharing this evening with someone—even a practical stranger—were what he had yearned for all along, whether he wanted to admit it aloud or not, "My—my uncle would be upset if I was bothering you."

"And I would be only too happy to tell him that you are not," Aurora assured, patting the stoop beside her once again, and smiling as her companion finally stepped forward and perched on the edge beside her, "What's your name, dear?"

"Harry. Harry Potter."

"Well, Harry Potter, it is a genuine pleasure to meet you. You can call me Aurora."

"That's a pretty name—" Harry began, a slight flush adoring his cheeks, though he kept his gaze firmly upon Aurora's features all the same, "I—I mean, if you don't mind me saying so."

"Not at all. And if you don't mind my saying so, Harry is a rather lovely name, as well."

"You really think so?"

"Of course," Aurora confirmed, shifting just a bit so that she faced Harry more directly, and donning a frown as she realized he did not appear to believe her words at face value, "You don't agree with me, then?"

"Not—not really."

"Do you think you might tell me why?"

"I—I can't," Harry said, youthful features scrunching into a frown as he squirmed a bit on the stoop, and suddenly moved to stand, as though he had just been burned, "I'm sorry. I can't—I shouldn't be here. My Uncle Vernon—"

"Is he outside, right now?"

"W—what?"

"Is your Uncle Vernon outside right now?" Aurora questioned, reaching out to place a gentle hand upon Harry's arm, and doing what she could to keep her expression neutral in spite of the fact that she felt nothing short of furious at the person or people who had clearly mistreated this young boy so profoundly that he was fearful of the prospect of simply making a new friend, "I do not see him."

"No. He—he's not. He's inside, with Aunt Petunia and Dudley, watching telly."

"Then I daresay we're safe. And if he happens to discover us, I am perfectly willing to say that this entire thing has been my fault."

"But—"

"But nothing," Aurora cut in, dropping her hand down to Harry's own much smaller one, and giving it a small squeeze before going on, hoping her words would reassure him to stay with her, at least for a little while longer, "I won't keep you here if you truly wish to go, Harry, but please—if you want to—stay."

For a moment, Aurora did not know if Harry would stay or go, his teeth chewing at his lower lip as though he were weighing his options, and trying to determine what choice would give him less trouble. But before she might come up with anything else to persuade him one way or the other, she found her efforts rendered unneeded, the expression of something not all that far off from abject determination crossing the young boy's features before he was sitting down beside her once again, green eyes meeting her own hazel ones as he spoke.

"Thank you."

"You are very welcome, my dear. Now—can I offer you anything to eat? I've got some cookies, or perhaps a bowl of fruit?"

"Maybe—maybe a cookie," Harry mused, the tentative smile upon his lips warming Aurora's heart as she recalled exactly how fond of sweets his father used to be, and stood from her perch on the stoop to venture inside the house and fetch the aforementioned treat. In truth, she was beyond thrilled that he had decided to stay, whether that flew in the face of her primary objective on Privet Drive, or not. And before she could spend one more moment wondering over whether or not she had thrown a wrench in her ability to keep the boy safe by interacting with him directly, Aurora headed indoors, her determination to protect him not only from outside threats, but from the apparent disinterest of his own family only growing as she mulled over the fact that his situation did not seem to be all that different from her own.

They had both known pain and isolation in the midst of those who were supposed to love them, and it would have been a lie to pretend that she did not hope to right the wrongs of her own parents by caring for this boy where his own flesh and blood could not.

…


	9. The Engagement

(19 December, 1978)

Aurora had managed to spend the majority of the term either alone, obsessively busy with her studies, or down by the lake with Barty, her desire to avoid Regulus as much as she could somehow coming to fruition in spite of her honest doubts that she would succeed. With her own course work keeping her more than fully occupied, and her brother's preoccupation with the other seventh year boys that had become more like his family than she seemed to be ever since the revelation made over dinner the previous summer, the young witch was startled to discover that she very rarely had to retreat to the girls' dormitories to gain some space, when her brother seemed all but determined to hardly make his presence known to her at all.

Of course, with the end of that term, and the approach of the Christmas holiday, that reprieve would soon be taken away from her altogether, the excitement that always flooded through Aurora's mind at the prospect of a holiday spent in the company of her two brothers forever dimmed by the disinheritance of the one, and the chosen path of the other. And now, in the midst of the heartache that such a thing brought about, Aurora knew she would face still more over the coming holiday season that was far more daunting than facing the rifts in her own family ever could be.

Her mother had sent an owl around Halloween, informing her daughter that her betrothed, and his family would be visiting them between Christmas night, and the celebration of the New Year.

She was going to meet Evan Rosier in the flesh—the man who would become her husband—and that thought frightened her more than she dared to admit.

She hadn't told Barty yet. She couldn't, when every time she even considered the thought, a vice constricted around her throat, and made it impossible for her to breathe. It would have been a lie to pretend she was not very well aware that the longer she waited, the more likely it would be for him to find out through another source, or resent her for taking so long to tell her, himself. But even in spite of that knowledge, Aurora simply could not seem to force herself to say the words…

She had allowed herself to fall deeper and deeper under his spell, even in the face of her apparent engagement, and the thought of Barty hating her for keeping something like this from him was more than she thought she could bear.

A furrow creased her brow in response to the thought as she leaned her head against the glass pane of the window in her compartment on the Hogwarts Express, her arms crossed over her chest as she shivered against the sudden chill that raced down her spine. Barty had been staying behind again, leaving her with absolutely nowhere to run if life at home became too much to cope with. And so, she settled herself to the task of simply trying to keep her mind as blank as she possibly could, her hands trembling just a bit as she drew the hems of her sleeves down to cover them before returning her arms to their former position across her chest once more.

"Ro?"

The sudden sound of Regulus' voice caused Aurora to flinch, her eyes reluctantly traveling to land upon the compartment door as she realized her brother had slid the barrier open and was now hovering halfway inside, as though fearful she would force him away.

"Can I join you?"

"You wouldn't rather be with your new friends?"

"I want to be with my sister," Regulus corrected, his words gentle, like he imagined Aurora to be some fragile thing that would shatter to pieces if he spoke any louder than he had, "I've missed you, Ro."

"Really?" Aurora inquired, hating herself for how feeble the question sounded, even though she knew better than most that her tenuous hold on her emotions and apprehensions over what was to come would break apart at the seams if her brother's words were in any way untrue. Already, she felt like she was losing everything, and everyone she had ever loved, bit by bit, and though she knew full well that her mother would have several things to say if she could discern the full extent of her daughter's thoughts, Aurora still felt as though she would not survive if she lost one more person she loved.

Professor Slughorn had not told her much of what he suspected, what seemed like ages ago, now, but it would have been a lie to pretend that the thought of that—thing—resurfacing again paralyzed her with the most crippling sense of fear she had ever faced.

"Really. You don't even have to ask that, you know."

"Do I?"

"Aurora," Regulus pressed, moving slowly into the compartment, and securing the door behind him once more, before treading towards his sister so that he might take a seat beside her on the bench, "No matter what I'm doing, now—no matter what I may have to do—I'm your brother. Always."

"Will—will he allow for that?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean will your—new—"

"The Dark Lord, Aurora."

"Don't expect me to call him that," Aurora retorted, real fire seeping into her words for the first time in what felt like forever as she recoiled from her brother's reaching hand, and forced herself to look him in the eye for the first time in months, "I won't, Reg. I can't."

"Okay. You don't have to. Just—what were you going to say?"

"Is your new group of friends going to allow you to be my—my brother?"

"I don't give a damn whether they do or not. I'm going to be," Regulus assured, once again tentatively reaching out to take his sister's hand, and finding himself more than a little relieved that she did not automatically draw away in response, "I know you don't understand why I've done this—"

"I'll never understand why you've done this."

"Can you try?"

"I—I don't know," Aurora confessed, frowning at her own inability to give her brother this one thing he seemed to want above all else, and glancing down at where his larger hand covered her own on her thigh, "I want to, Reg, I just—I don't know what to do."

"Will you at least allow me to explain?"

"O—okay."

Seeming to be satisfied by Aurora's single word of assent, Regulus relaxed a fraction or two in response, a shaky breath escaping his lungs as he leaned back just a bit, and tilted his head up to look at the ceiling. For a moment, she was truthfully not certain whether he intended to speak at all, his eyes closing almost of their own accord, while he still clutched her hand, as though she would fade away if he let her go. But before she could make any attempt at opening her mouth to say something, herself, Aurora found that she was spared the trouble, her eyes making a cursory investigation of her brother's features while he spoke.

"Can you allow me to explain at home? When we're alone?"

"Seriously?"

"Yes," Regulus said, reaching forward with his free hand to tuck his thumb beneath Aurora's chin, so that he could lift her face until her hazel eyes met his own once more, "I need you to trust me on this, Ro. I'm going to tell you. Just not here."

"I'm going to hold you to that, you know," Aurora quipped, arching a brow and finding that the act of forcing some certainty into her tone was not as taxing as it had been mere moments before, "I just—I need someone on my side, when—"

"When the Rosiers come."

"Yes."

"I'll be there. You know I will," Regulus assured, smoothing the pad of his thumb against his sister's cheek, and furrowing his brow when the digit came away damp with the beginnings of a tear, "Hey—what is it? What's wrong?"

"Everything's just—it's all falling apart," Aurora sobbed, hating herself for allowing her admittedly tenuous control over her emotions to fracture so easily, when she had done all in her power to maintain it ever since returning to school. But somehow, in the wake of the touch of her brother's fingers upon her skin, she found that she was no longer even remotely capable of maintaining such control, her shoulders trembling as she allowed herself to be pulled snugly against Regulus' side, while his arm wound around her shoulders, and she rested her head upon his shoulder while he spoke.

"We're going to put it back together again, Ro. You and me. You'll see. And if you really want me to, I'll talk to Mum about—him."

"Would—would you really do that?" Aurora murmured, astonishment coloring her tone as she accepted her brother's decision to reach for her hand with the one that was not currently running idle patterns against her shoulder, their fingers threading together with ease just as they always had, before. In spite of her hesitation, she could almost permit herself to hope that Regulus was right. That he would speak to their mother, and somehow, everything would right itself, maybe even before they returned to Hogwarts at the close of the holiday, if they were lucky. And before she could fully stop herself, Aurora found herself tilting her head back to peer up at her brother as he looked down on her with a slight nod, his expression suddenly determined, as though he truly had not changed at all, despite the influence of his newfound companions.

"Of course I would. What kind of wanker would I be if I didn't, eh?"

In lieu of any sort of reply, Aurora simply settled back against her brother's side and gave his hand a small squeeze as it remained tightly clasped around her own, her eyes fixating upon a frayed bit of fabric in the carpeting of the compartment they sat in as she attempted to corral her anxious thoughts into some semblance of order. She knew that, if she wanted any chance of escaping the holiday spent with her mother unscathed, it would serve her well to remain as docile and outwardly obedient as possible…

If whatever Regulus might have in mind were to work, Aurora knew that Walburga Black would have to be in the best of moods—a task that was, admittedly, far more difficult to accomplish than she, or her brother, could manage on their own.

…

(24 December, 1978)

"Aurora, get down here, girl! Our guests are about to arrive," Walburga called, one thin-fingered hand lifting to pat at her dark hair as she peered up the staircase towards the general direction of her daughter's last known location, "Aurora!"

"Coming, Mother."

"Hurry, child. I told you to begin making yourself presentable hours ago."

Biting her tongue as she hurried towards the top of the staircase, and made her way down, her rouged lips curving into what she hoped was a convincing smile as she met her mother's sharp gaze head-on. Walburga was a vision in glimmering black, diamonds shining in the shape of a teardrop dangling from each ear. And although Aurora had hated every minute of it, she had done her best to render her appearance as carefully and thoughtfully as her mother would have expected her to, her fingertips grazing along the mahogany of the banister until she drew to a stop before her mother, and allowed the older woman to investigate her attire more closely.

"Good. You chose the green," Walburga approved, running chilly fingers against the skin of her daughter's cheeks as she tucked some stray curls behind her ears, "Though I wish you would have done something different with your hair."

"I put it up, like you said—"

"And it still escapes from the ribbons. Did you not use the pins your father and I bought you?"

"I could not find them."

"Aurora—"

"I'm sorry," Aurora pressed, her fingernails digging into the skin of her palm as she willed herself to avoid provoking her mother's ire this early in the evening, and settled instead upon forcing a smile to her lips before going on, "If you would like, I can look again."

"No. No, you will do no such thing," Walburga intoned, stepping back to regard her daughter one final time, and managing a curt nod of what might have been the closest thing to approval she had ever given in her life, "The Rosiers will be here any minute. Go and wait in the foyer to greet them. I want them to see what a wonderful hostess you can be."

Knowing that she would stand a far better chance of making it through the evening unscathed if she simply did as she was told, Aurora stepped around her mother, and moved towards the foyer as she had been instructed, her breaths coming quicker and quicker the closer she got to the door. Of course, she was abundantly grateful for the fact that Regulus appeared determined to remain true to his word, the soft sound of his footsteps following after her even though she had never even known he was already downstairs bringing a small sense of comfort to quiet her racing heart. But even that was not entirely enough to keep her completely calm as she registered the muted sound of voices coming from outside the door, her body going rigid while Kreacher appeared with a muted pop from wherever he had been before, and moved to answer the ring of the doorbell not long thereafter.

It was now or never…

With a smile forced upon her lips once again, Aurora stepped forward to join the elf, her eyes meeting with those of an older woman that could only have been her intended's mother as soon as she stepped through the door. She could feel the dark grey eyes raking over her frame, just as she could feel her mother's intent gaze boring into her back. And so, in spite of her trepidation, Aurora did her best to appear at ease, hoping beyond hope that her smile would appear genuine as she stepped forward to address the older woman firsthand.

"Mrs. Rosier—welcome—"

"My goodness, Walburga, you were right. She truly is a beauty," The older woman remarked, sparing just a cursory glance for Aurora's benefit before stepping around her to approach the Black family matriarch once more, "I suppose she takes after you, in your younger days."

"Lucinda, you flatter me. She is far lovelier than I ever was."

"Whether she is or is not, you have done well, raising her. My Evan is a lucky man indeed, to call such a woman his wife."

"Is this him, then?" Walburga inquired, moving to stand beside her daughter as a pair of men stepped through the door, nearly identical in their appearance save for the difference in age, "My goodness, but you've grown since I saw you last."

"I suppose I have, Mrs. Black."

"Walburga, please."

"Walburga," The younger of the two men repeated, stooping down to reach for the woman's hand, and bringing it toward his lips for a chaste kiss upon her knuckles, "Enchanted, of course."

"Shouldn't you be lavishing your attentions upon my daughter, my dear?"

"Who says I am not, already? Someone once said the way to a woman's heart begins by treating her mother well."

In the wake of her mother's sudden laugh, Aurora found herself flinching in spite of her desire to avoid it, the shrill sound grating against her ears as she realized that, in response to her intended's apparent distraction in flattering her mother, she was left entirely at the mercy of his father, instead. Pinned beneath the weight of his dark eyes as they raked over her frame, the young woman was completely powerless to resist the shiver that made its way down her spine in response. Before she could fully stop it, he was reaching forward for her hand, mimicking the gesture his son had just performed on her mother, though in contrast to Walburga's ready smile, Aurora struggled to avoid recoiling with every power she possessed.

Something about the way Evan Rosier's father was watching her made her skin crawl, and Aurora was never more grateful than she was the very moment he allowed her hand to return to its place at her side.

"I believe that was me, son," The older man informed, moving to clap his son on the shoulder, before turning his attention towards Aurora once again, "Though something tells me you may have your work cut out for you with this one."

"Something tells me I might be looking forward to that."

"I—I'm not entirely certain I will be that difficult to please," Aurora interjected, catching the significant look her mother was sending her way, and endeavoring to remedy the apparent faux pas she had made without even being aware she had done so in the first place, "Or at least I hope I will not be that difficult."

"I may have my ways to remedy things if you are," Evan supplied, regarding Aurora with a look that was nothing short of possessive as he stepped away from his father, and approached her, instead, "Such a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh."

"Of—of course. The pleasure is all mine."

"Perhaps we ought to venture into the sitting room," Walburga proclaimed, watching carefully as her daughter accepted the gesture her intended made to loop her arm through his own, and suppressing the slight twitch at the corners of her lips as she turned to lead their party further inside her home. In spite of her daughter's apparent nerves, and the furtive glances she appeared to keep giving her son, the matriarch would have been blind to miss how enthralled Evan Rosier appeared to be with the young woman that would become his bride…

So long as Aurora did not manage to offend him or his family, Walburga could see no reason why the two could not be married as soon as her daughter put Hogwarts behind her for good.

After all, what need would she have for employment after graduation if she were married to one of the wealthiest young wizards of suitable station?

Satisfied with her own superior planning, Walburga continued to move towards the sitting room with Lucinda Rosier chattering away happily at her side, her eyes meeting her husband's as soon as they entered the room. In spite of his occasional softness in matters concerning their daughter, Walburga knew that Orion was every bit as committed to the idea of this marriage as she was, herself. And so, the witch found herself very much capable of giving him what might have amounted to a genuine smile as she led their guests into the room, and gestured for everyone to take a seat, her tone far warmer than it ever was toward any of her own kin as she simultaneously stooped to reach for the silver bell upon the coffee table that would summon Kreacher to their side. If everything were to go as planned, she highly suspected Evan would soon seek an excuse to take her daughter out on the veranda for a private conversation of their own, and she would not have it said that she did not possess the capability of entertaining his parents while that took place.

She was not the only one that recognized the importance of a couple getting to know one another, and if Aurora proved reluctant to succumb to such charms, Walburga had no doubt that her future son-in-law would take matters into his own hands soon enough…

Her daughter may claim to love another, but opinions such as that could be altered, easily enough.

…


	10. The Cost of Loneliness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Just dropping in to give a word of very heartfelt thanks to those who left such wonderful comments last time around (Awakened_Panda, 1ndigo_Witch, and Nur, this means you!) I am floored that you are enjoying the story so much thus far, and I can only hope that you know how much your kind words are appreciated! Here's hoping everyone enjoys this chapter, as well! There are many, many more to come!

(24 December, 1978)

Aurora stood on the veranda just outside the sitting room of her parents' home, her arms braced across her chest to ward off the chill of the night air while she gazed up at the stars overhead. For a moment, she could almost forget where she was. Forget the presence of the man beside her as he reached out a hand to brush a dark curl away from her cheek, before allowing the pad of that finger to trace down her neck to her shoulder. For a moment, she could have convinced herself that the touch came from someone else, entirely. That she was back at Hogwarts, in the Astronomy Tower, with the memory of another man's kiss upon her lips. But of course, she was not at Hogwarts. And the man whose cologne wafted against her nostrils now was not the one she loved so fiercely she felt her heart may shatter from the force of it…

No, he was another man entirely, and his touch forced Aurora to do all in her power to avoid cringing away as though his touch was the most repulsive thing she had ever experienced in her life.

"You are cold."

"Not—not really," Aurora demurred, shying away from Evan's touch, despite the fact that his light blue eyes seemed to lock upon her gaze, refusing to let go, "I'm fine."

"Nonsense. Let me give you my jacket," Evan insisted, shucking the garment and sweeping it around Aurora's shoulders with a flourish before she could even open her mouth to object, "I won't have it said that I allowed my betrothed to freeze to death on her own veranda."

"I doubt I would freeze to death—"

"One never knows. It seemed to me your mother was rather fond of the idea of the two of us spending some time alone. She may elect to lock us out if we attempted to return indoors."

Knowing that Evan was right, inasmuch as she did not want to admit it, Aurora simply nodded her agreement, and allowed her future husband to tighten his jacket around her shoulders, his hands smoothing over the fabric in such a way that gave her the impression he was not so much seeking to ensure her warmth, as he was attempting to prolong the contact between them without anyone feeling it was improper. If her mother, or her father, were to risk a glance out the window, all they would see was a young man trying to be chivalrous. Trying to keep his intended warm.

If only Aurora could manage to turn that thought into enough gumption to believe that Evan's motives truly were that pure…

"Thank you," Aurora finally managed, forcing a smile to her lips, and stepping back as graciously as she could to maneuver her way out of Evan's grasp, only to find that he had begun to pull her towards him and loop an arm about her waist, instead. In truth, she was surprised at the strength he had, holding her to his side without very much effort at all. But before she could blurt what was truly on her mind, in response to that realization, Aurora quickly changed her mind, pursing her lips for a moment before settling on what her mother would call a more appropriate range of conversation, instead.

"Won't you take a chill, now that I have your jacket?"

"Perhaps that is why I am keeping you close."

"I—I see."

"Do you object?" Evan inquired, drawing back just enough to glance down at Aurora's flushed cheeks, and watching as she swallowed and shook her head before she replied.

"N—no. No, not at all, I just—"

"You were concerned for my welfare."

"I—yes," Aurora confirmed, wetting her lips with her tongue, and forcing herself to relax as Evan pulled her back to rest snugly against his side once again. If she focused on the stars again, rather than spending too much time paying attention to the crawling of her skin beneath Evan's touch, Aurora found that she could remain as pliant as she was likely expected to be, her heartrate slowing as she settled upon simply remaining as still as she could. Just for a moment, she allowed herself to imagine someone else was holding her so tightly—that she would turn to glance his way, and he would press his lips to hers, and she would lose herself in the moment like she had so often, before. But that dream was squashed far too quickly for her liking as she registered a chill breeze blowing small tendrils of hair about her face, and causing the scent of Evan's cologne to make itself known, bringing her momentary relief crashing down around her in mere seconds, flat.

"You're shivering."

"I'm fine."

"Why don't we go inside?"

"No! I—I mean—no," Aurora pleaded, noting the slight flicker of surprise that passed through Evan's eyes as he watched her clutch at the edges of his jacket as though suddenly fearful it would fly away, "My—my mother would ask questions."

"What sorts of questions?"

"Unwelcome ones. She might—she would think I had offended you."

"Well then, it wouldn't do to have her thinking that," Evan mused, relinquishing his hold upon Aurora's waist, in favor of turning to face her directly, while one hand lifted to rest beneath her chin in order to tilt her head back to meet his gaze, "You fear her."

"I—what? No, I—I don't fear her!"

"She is a formidable woman, Aurora. I think it might be wise to."

"I don't," Aurora pressed, silently grateful that her voice did not waver, and that she was somehow capable of maintaining her neutral expression as she forced herself to continue meeting Evan's gaze head-on, "But I do wish to avoid giving her reason to doubt my ability to be a proper hostess whenever I can."

"Has she had reason to do so, before?"

"More often than I would like."

The sound of Evan's sudden laughter caused Aurora to flinch, one foot instinctively inching backwards in spite of the weight of her intended's hand as it dropped down to reach for her own in the same motion. His palm was calloused against her skin, his grip strong as his fingers threaded through her own. And although she wanted nothing more than to simply pull away, Aurora grit her teeth and remained precisely where she was, her breath leaving her lungs in a shaky rush as she realized that Evan's other hand had come to rest lightly upon her cheek. As he drew nearer, she could feel the warm gusts of his breath against her skin. She could feel his grip tightening upon her hand as he leaned down to hover mere millimeters away from her face. And, in response to the panic that seeped through her veins, lighting fires in every nerve ending she possessed, Aurora found that she was suddenly wrenching away from the man that was to be her husband, one hand lifting to cover her mouth as her breathing turned to strangled gasps.

"Aurora?"

"I—don't—I'm fine," The young woman gasped, stumbling backwards until she could cling to the brick siding of her house as though it were the only thing that could keep her standing. Every muscle—every bone and tendon burned, exactly as it had the night she had first learned of her engagement. Aurora would have been a liar to pretend she could not feel the panic clawing its way up her throat in response to the realization, her vision blurring as hot tears began to spill down her cheeks. This could not be happening now. Not again.

Her mother had made it very clear that if her intended, or his family were to catch any hint of her illness, such as it was, the consequences would be severe…

She did not want to even contemplate facing Walburga Black's ire, should the Rosiers withdraw their offer, any more than she wished for news of her insufficiencies to be spread around the wizarding world like wildfire.

"Get—get Reg. Please."

"Regulus? Shouldn't I get your parents?" Evan countered, aware of the almost immediate shake of the head that Aurora gave in response, despite the rattling sound coming from her attempts to draw breath, "Aurora—"

"Reg! P—please, I need—I need my brother."

Consumed in the act of sinking down until she crouched with her back against the bricks behind her, Aurora curled in on herself, trembling arms winding around her knees while she remained oblivious to the dampness that soaked into the skirt of her dress. She knew her mother would be displeased. That poor Kreacher would likely be forced to spend hours mending and cleaning it as a result of her carelessness. But even in spite of the small spasm of guilt she felt over the thought, Aurora could not seem to move, her entire being focused upon trying to regain some control over her fractured breathing in the hopes that she could keep herself in the here and now. She could not afford what had happened the previous summer happening again. Not with guests. And although she truly did not want to risk Regulus getting too close, should the worst happen—should she lose control—Aurora knew he may just be the only one capable of calming her down enough to have hope of holding onto her composure for the duration of the evening.

She could only hope that Evan would be discreet, rather than alerting her mother to the fact that something was wrong, or her problems may only get worse, rather than better…

…

(Little Whinging, 1988)

After spending the majority of the evening encouraging Harry Potter to take as many cookies as he would like, and listening as he launched into a rather animated description of one of the shows he had watched while in the care of Mrs. Figg, Aurora found herself alone in her den once more, her teeth worrying at her lower lip as she stared absently at the threads of the sofa as though they were the most fascinating thing in the world. The pull of her memories had become very near to overwhelming in the wake of the boy's departure, her defenses seeming to fracture as soon as Harry's presence no longer required them to remain intact.

Everything she had worked so diligently to keep out of her mind had come barreling back in with a vengeance, and she would have been a fool to ignore the burning behind her eyes that throbbed in time with the sudden dull ache in her chest, near the vicinity of her heart.

She had not seen Lily and James Potter much after they had left Hogwarts, her own studies, and later on, her marriage and the need to avoid contact with anyone not already included in her husband's group of friends and colleagues keeping them apart more than either party would have liked. Lily had always been kind to her, and James had been more like another older brother than simply one of Sirius' acquaintances, regardless of how their social circles had diverged as time went on. She never wanted to be forced to ignore them, acting as though they were strangers at best, and something disgusting she had scraped off of the bottom of her boot at the worst, were they ever to meet in public during the war. But survival had dictated that she do precisely that, and luck or something else entirely made it so she was never forced to choose between her former friends, and her husband's expectations…

Of course, even that reality had never been enough to assuage her guilt, and seeing a living reminder of everything that Lily and James had sacrificed was only making that guilt announce its presence as though she had truly ever believed it had a chance of going away.

Lifting a hand to dash at the tears that had finally broken free, Aurora forced herself to stand, and move towards the kitchen, her hand trembling as it fell back to her side, and she was forced to lean against the countertop in order to give herself something to grasp onto. In the wake of her apparently morose line of thought, her knees had started to shake, making the task of remaining upright a difficult one, to say the least. But before she could become too panicked by the thought of what her sudden surge in emotions may mean, Aurora found herself distracted by the sound of a soft knocking on the front door, her brow furrowing as she waited with bated breath for a moment until the knock repeated itself once again.

Who would be at her door at this time of night?

Distracted from her sudden anxiousness, the young woman moved cautiously towards the door, her hand reaching for her wand where it resided in a drawer near the stove, and stowing it in her back pocket for ready use, should it become necessary. It would have been a lie to pretend that she did not abhor the idea of having to risk drawing attention to herself, should a fight in fact break out. But inasmuch as she did not wish to be forced to rely on the skills that had kept her alive before everything had fallen apart, Aurora was also determined that she would not simply stand aside and let a threat overwhelm her completely without at least attempting to fight back.

She was too much like her older brothers for all of that…

Gritting her teeth in hopes that it would steel her nerves, and give her the courage to open the door as though nothing was amiss, Aurora reached for the doorknob, her lips pursing as she did her best to ignore the tremble of the gesture, while her free hand rested at her back pocket, near her wand. Her entire body was taut, waiting for a potential confrontation that she hoped would never come. And yet, as soon as she recognized the person on the other side of the door, all of the tension left her frame in mere seconds, flat, a tentative smile spreading across her lips before instinct prevailed and she vaulted herself into the visitor's arms before she could think twice about how such a thing might look if any of her neighbors were peering out of their windows.

"Remus!"

"Hello, Aurora," The werewolf replied, only freezing for a moment in the wake of the unexpected enthusiasm in his companion's response to his presence, before he was relaxing, and tightening his arms around her waist in turn. It would have been a lie to pretend that it did not do far more good than he thought he deserved, feeling the connection to another soul that he had been missing for what seemed like ages. And perhaps that realization alone gave him the strength he needed to manage a faint smile for his friend as he pulled back and gave her the once over, before releasing her in order to better follow her into the foyer of her home.

"You look—healthy."

"I am, for the most part," Aurora confirmed, keeping her attention fixed on the task of removing the throw blanket that had been strewn across the sofa as soon as she entered the den, in hopes that it would prevent Remus from sensing the slight lie that was so inherent in her reply, "Just—attempting to adjust. Did—did Dumbledore send you?"

"No. No, I decided to come myself," Lupin informed, tired eyes tracing Aurora's movements as she folded the blanket and placed it on the back of the sofa, and then turned to pick up one of the corresponding decorative pillows from the floor to place it on the cushion near the coffee table, instead, "You hardly need to tidy up, you know."

"Oh, I—I supposed I hadn't really realized I was."

"Old habits?"

"They do die hard. Can I at least offer you something to drink, if I'm not permitted to clean up a bit?"

"No, thank you. I—I am afraid I cannot stay long."

"No?" Aurora murmured, trying and failing to keep the disappointment from her voice as she turned to face her guest, with one brow lifted in open inquiry over his intentions, "May I ask why not?"

"You may, but I believe you already know the answer," Remus supplied, following Aurora's gesture to sit upon the sofa, though he only did so after ensuring she had taken a seat in the chair opposite where he sat, as well, "You have always been a rather perceptive witch, Aurora."

"If this is about your fear of being a burden, Remus, I can promise you, you are nothing of the sort."

"You only say so because you are too polite to consider doing otherwise."

"I only say so because I care about you. And I, for one, think that we would both be better suited for some companionship than we would be to being alone."

"I believe Dumbledore would not want me to risk your presence here drawing more attention than it should," Remus pressed, aware of the way his companion's expression seemed to harden just a bit, and finding himself not even remotely capable of suppressing the soft laugh that broke free in response, even if it did earn him a surprised glance in return, "You know he does, whether you care to admit it to yourself or not."

"Then why did you come? If it was not for an ordinary visit, or a prolonged stay. Which, by the way, you would be more than welcome to, whether you want to admit it or not."

"I came, admittedly, for rather selfish reasons."

"Oh?"

"I suppose you could say I was desperate to see an old friend."

"An old friend you apparently cannot stay with," Aurora quipped, tempering any risk of censure in her reply with a faint smile of her own, and finding herself more than a little relieved that Remus appeared to take the gesture as it was intended while she went on, "Is the Order checking up on me?"

"Aurora—"

"I couldn't exactly blame them, if they were. The need to keep my husband in the dark must have made some of my actions more than a little suspect."

"None of us suspect your loyalty," Remus interjected, catching on to the flicker of doubt that passed over the young woman's features, and almost immediately regretting the fact that he was the one that caused it to come into existence in the first place, "But we also are well aware of your losses, and how they may impact you on a day-to-day basis."

"You mean Dumbledore recalls what Slughorn believed my problem was, and is fearful it may make an appearance again."

"He is only looking out for you. For your well-being," Remus clarified, frowning as he realized Aurora did not appear to be at all convinced, and that she had in fact withdrawn just a bit in response, with her shoulders hunched, and arms crossed over her chest, "Have you experienced any—"

"Any symptoms? No," Aurora began, chewing at the inside of her cheek as she averted her gaze to the book that still remained on her coffee table, a constant reminder that she had not been capable of persuading herself to sit still for long enough to read, "Why the sudden concern? I've been living here without incident for years, now."

"You have been on your own for those years, Aurora. You need contact."

"Says the man who deliberately isolates himself for fear of harming one of his friends. You and I are the same, Remus."

"You have not killed—"

"Oh, but I have."

Unbidden, the declaration had risen to her lips, tumbling into the open before she could stop it, and prompting her to clasp a hand over her mouth in delayed horror at having said such a thing out loud. She could see the open disbelief that made itself known in Remus' expression, and she wished with all that she had that she had truly earned his apparent faith that she would never take another life, no matter what the cost. But she was not that girl he had known at Hogwarts, anymore. The sweet, innocent girl, that would have defended her friends with her dying breath, but would never have sought to harm another soul, if that outcome could be avoided.

That girl had died the day she married Evan Rosier.

Still, Aurora was not entirely willing to allow Remus to think the worst of her, even in spite of all that she had done, her hazel eyes meeting his as she bit her lip for a moment, before summoning the wherewithal to speak once more, and hoping with all that she had that he would understand what had caused her to do the only thing she thought she could do to survive.

"I'm not proud of it, but I have. During the—during the war," She explained, watching Remus' expression turn from one of surprise, to one of sudden understanding, instead as he leaned forward almost immediately to place both elbows upon his knees while his fingers threaded together before him, "Believe me, there was nothing I hated more than playing both sides, but—"

"You have nothing to apologize for, Aurora. You did what you had to do to survive, both your marriage and the companions he brought into your home."

"I could have done something different—"

"And for that, you would have been killed."

"Sometimes I—I wonder if that might not have been better," Aurora confessed, hating herself for succumbing to the admission, though she suspected Remus may have already come to the conclusion, himself, if the expression that trailed across his face were any indication, "Don't look at me like that, Remus. I'm not saying this for pity."

"I know that, Aurora. That is precisely what worries me."

"Why is that?"

"Because although Dumbledore and I have every reason to believe you will protect Harry Potter, should the need arise, we would both be blind to pretend we did not feel concern over the lengths you may feel you must go to in order to atone for what you perceive to be past sins."

"I feel I need to atone for them because I do."

"Then you would be the only one who thinks so," Remus argued, his tone vehement despite the gentleness that still remained, as if he truly wished to avoid frightening her off, "Tell me why you agreed to do this."

"What?"

"When Dumbledore came to you, and asked you to watch over Harry, why did you agree? To die? Or to get another chance to live?"

"I—I do not know."

"See, I believe you do. Lily wanted you to be his godmother, you know—"

"She—she did?" Aurora questioned, shock coloring her tone as she found her thoughts diverted from thoughts of her own misdeeds, and her eyes once again met her companion's, this time with some small hint of the spark they formerly possessed as she went on, "I—I never knew."

"She and James felt that you and Sirius would be the boy's best chance, should anything befall them. And, now that Sirius is—"

"In prison."

"In prison," Remus repeated, a sad smile toying at the corners of his mouth as he regarded the young woman sat before him, for a moment, before going on, "You are all the boy has left."

"I told Dumbledore I would protect him, and I meant it."

"You cannot protect Harry if you are dead."

"I know that, Remus," Aurora acknowledged, leaning down to run her fingers through dark curls, and sighing as she realized her companion did not appear at all convinced of the sincerity in her words, "I didn't—what I said—I didn't mean it. I'm just so—so—"

"Lonely?"

"You have no idea."

Falling into an almost companionable silence for the moment, Aurora found that she was reminded of the days before the war, and the few moments of peace that she and Remus were able to obtain before being forced to venture off to attempt thwarting whatever mischief James and Sirius had managed to concoct. Though she loved her brother dearly, there was something to be said for a quieter evening spent with a good book, or in hushed conversation every now and then. And perhaps it was that yearning for times long gone that had her feeling bold enough to repeat her earlier question once more, her tone softer—far more pleading—as she forced herself to meet her companion's gaze again before she spoke.

"Remus—stay. Just for the night, but—stay."

To say anything other than that she was relieved at Remus' answering nod, no matter how reluctant it may have been, would be a lie…

…


	11. A Visit Prolonged

(Little Whinging, 1988)

Aurora woke from a surprisingly restful sleep curled up on her sofa, her cheek nestled against the worn fabric of an unfamiliar sweater, while the gentle rise and fall of a warm chest moved beneath her skin. For a moment, she had forgotten the precise circumstances of the previous evening, her brow furrowing as she attempted to pull herself into a seated position, only to find that she was waylaid by the dead weight of an arm slung around her waist. It was then that she recalled exactly what had transpired to lead her here, the soft snores of her companion registering in her ears while a faint smile finally graced her lips. Though she knew she ought to play the part of the proper hostess, and find some means of extricating herself from her current position so that she could brew some tea and see about some manner of food for breakfast, Aurora was still half-tempted to remain precisely where she was, the comfort brought about by her old friend's presence far more calming than she thought she truly deserved.

After all, it felt like it had been so long since she felt as though she might stand a chance at feeling true peace, even if only for a moment or two, and she was very much reluctant to pull away from that chance, now, not knowing if it would ever return to her again.

With such a thought in mind, Aurora settled back against Remus' chest, steady rise and fall giving her leave to shut her eyes once more, and focus upon taking slow, even breaths of her own as a result. It would have been a lie to pretend that she had not already started to dread the eventuality of his departure, leaving her to her own devices once again whether she wanted to be alone or not. And although she knew very well that keeping Remus with her for any longer than he wanted to be was perhaps one of the more selfish things she could ever do, Aurora still found her mind turning to possible means of securing that precise end, her brow furrowing as she tried to reconcile apparent instinct with the guilt that came about as a result, until a slight shift of the frame beneath her cheek gave her reason to believe she was no longer the only person awake, after all.

"What are you thinking about?"

"How exactly do you know I'm thinking about anything at all, Remus?"

"Because I believe I have known you long enough to realize that a furrowed brow means something is on your mind," Remus supplied, his hand shifting from its position on her waist, to come to rest upon her shoulder instead to deliver a small squeeze, "What is it, Aurora?"

"I don't suppose I can deter you by changing the subject?"

"You cannot."

"Then I suppose I was simply thinking of how nice it's been to have someone here with me, and how much I will miss you when you're gone."

"If I stayed, it might raise questions."

"Would it be too terrible of me to say that I hardly care?" Aurora questioned, shifting just a bit so that she could look her companion in the eye, only to find that his expression had moved from merely curious to something else entirely in the short duration of time that she looked upon him, "I see no reason why a friend's arrival should provoke suspicion."

"Until the full moon."

"I was under the impression Severus had given you potions to remediate the worst of your symptoms."

"And yet they still take their toll," Remus informed, his expression turning remorseful as Aurora moved to sit completely upright, and he moved to do the same, "I would not risk harming you, or anyone else here, should something go wrong."

"You have never harmed me, Remus."

"There is always a first time."

"Would it make any difference if I said I doubted you?" Aurora inquired, hating the self-loathing that had become so apparent in her companion's expression, though she knew there was not a thing she could do to remedy it, on her own. No matter what any of their former comrades had tried, the man had always persisted in viewing his condition as the absolute worst stain of unworthiness. And in spite of how many times Aurora herself had tried to show him that he was still a worthy friend-a worthy man, he simply did not seem capable of believing such a thing for himself.

"You and I both know that it would not."

"How long will you stay, then?"

"Do you really wish to keep me here another night?"

"I would not ask if I did not."

"And I will never understand your steadfast belief that I am worthy of the effort," Remus quipped, tempering the potential bitterness in his words with a faint smile that did not quite reach his eyes, "We have one week, maybe more, until the next full moon."

"Then stay that long. Please, Remus. Stay," Aurora pleaded, aware of the fact that her request might have seemed desperate, particularly given that she had only requested his presence for the one day the evening before, and yet completely incapable of caring whether her friend believed her to be weak as a result. But in light of the smallest bits of comfort she had received since his arrival, Aurora would have been a liar to pretend that his nod, no matter how reluctant, gave her a great sense of relief, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she rose to stand, and stretched stiff muscles for only a moment before heading towards the kitchen to see about preparing breakfast.

"Where are you going, Aurora?" The man asked, curiosity once again in his tone, and one brow quirked in obvious anticipation of whatever the young woman's reply would be…

A reply that was not long in coming, the smile upon her face so genuine that for a moment, Remus thought he might have glimpsed a shadow of who she had been, before the war had torn them both to pieces.

"To make us breakfast, of course. If you're staying like I want you to, I won't have you thinking I expect you to do all the work yourself."

If Walburga Black had done nothing else, she had certainly seen to it that her only daughter knew how to make someone feel welcome in her home with almost as little effort as it took to draw breath.

…

"So, you have met him," Remus surmised, somehow gathering the nature of the truth in just one glance at where Aurora's gaze had turned, so that she could watch as a young boy with familiar dark black hair played alone on the front lawn just a few yards away. The sight seemed enough to render him motionless, a tightening in his chest the only concession to memory that he allowed himself, no matter how temptation might wish otherwise. In truth, he was far more grateful for Aurora's presence in the boy's life than he could put into words, the expression that graced her own features giving him every reason to believe that she would care for him as if he were her own, whether his own aunt and uncle did so as well, or not. But of course, before he could become too distracted by such musings, an answer to his earlier inquiry was reaching his ears, the way Aurora's voice seemed to crack minutely as she spoke giving him every reason to believe that she felt the very same pull of memory and regret as he did, himself.

"I have. He is so very much like them already, Remus, you really have no idea."

"And it is better, I fear, that it remains that way."

"Why?"

"I am more dangerous to that boy entering his life, than I am by leaving him as he is now."

"You don't know that," Aurora protested, once again doubting her sudden decision to venture to her front porch with Remus in tow not long after they had finished clearing the dishes from breakfast, as it seemed to have brought a return of the man's ever-present self-doubt no matter how fiercely she had hoped that it would not, "James and Lily loved you, Remus. They adored you, and they would have loved the idea of you looking after their son."

"I am not so certain."

"I am."

"You always were far too stubborn for your own good, Aurora," Remus informed, a mocking smile toying at his lips before it faded away, to be replaced by a sorrowful expression, instead, "Always refusing to hear a refusal if it was not the answer you wanted."

"You make it sound as though I am a petulant child."

"On the contrary. You are a far better friend than I deserve."

"Perhaps I could say the same of you," The young woman returned, finally averting her gaze from where Harry Potter remained playing on his own, and turning her hazel eyes towards Remus, instead, "I'm hardly harmless, myself."

"You said yourself, you have had no issue since you arrived."

"That does not mean that I won't."

"Have you spoken to Dumbledore of this?" Remus questioned, his words gentle, despite the obvious belief he so clearly held that doing so was in all likelihood the best course of action, "To anyone?"

"I haven't."

"Aurora…"

"I can't," The young woman whispered, her eyes stinging with unshed tears as she forced herself to keep looking Remus in the eye no matter how fiercely she wished to duck her head and return indoors, "I can't have him thinking I am incapable of doing even this simple task, Remus. I can't."

"An admission of a struggle is hardly the same thing as a confession of being incapable."

"Can you guarantee that Albus will see it in such a way?"

"In fact, I think that I can."

"Then you clearly are far more optimistic than I will ever be."

"Why is it you believe he will doubt you?" Remus pressed, reaching for Aurora's arm when she began to turn away, and holding on gently, though he could still feel the minute trembling that had taken over her frame, "Even the best of us need help, from time to time."

"Said by a man who has to be forced to accept help, himself."

"Perhaps we are more alike than I thought, then. A rather unfortunate fate for you, I'm afraid."

"Or maybe it is more unfortunate for you," Aurora countered, a sardonic smile toying at the edges of her mouth as she glanced down at his hand upon her arm, one brow lifting in silent question over precisely how long he intended to keep her stationary, "The very last thing that could be said of me at the moment is that I am a good role model for anyone to look up to."

"I refuse to think any comparison of the two of us that puts me in even the remotest light of comparison to you is an offense."

"Why? Why do you persist in seeing this fictitious good in me, Remus? It isn't there."

"I believe I persist in seeing it because you have done the same for me far more than I could ever count," Remus replied, aware of the fact that Aurora's mouth had opened, likely to dispute his claim, and lifting a hand to forestall her rebuttal so that he could press on, instead, "You and Lily both did so, Aurora, you can not deny that."

"Am I to take this as your way of telling me that you will not stop searching for that goodness, no matter what I have to say about it, myself?"

"I believe you would be wise to, yes."

"Then I suppose we should agree to disagree," Aurora concluded, exhaling softly as she turned towards where she had last seen Harry Potter at play, and frowning as she realized in the time since her attention had been diverted, he must have gone inside, "You are certain you do not wish to meet him?"

"I am," Remus confirmed, aware of the obvious concern that was so apparent in Aurora's expression, and yet forcing himself to continue on, regardless, "It is better for the boy. And perhaps, for me as well."

"Because of the memories it will bring?"

"Amongst other things."

Managing a nod by way of acknowledgement, and because she knew that if she spoke out loud, it would only be to deter her old friend from the censure he so clearly wished to place upon himself for things neither one of them could change, Aurora gently extricated herself from Remus' hold upon her arm for just long enough to grant herself the ability to thread her fingers through his own, instead, to give his hand a small squeeze. As easily as he seemed to have read her own thoughts, she could see his own so clearly now, laid out as they were before her without hesitation or restraint. And she knew full well what it was that he feared most about the prospect of meeting Harry Potter in the flesh…

It was the very same thing that haunted her, whenever she looked into those all too familiar green eyes of a friend long dead.

The boy may well be the spitting image of his father, but he truly did have his mother's eyes.

….

(24 December, 1978)

Finally in the solitude of her room, and in spite of not having the faintest clue of how Regulus had managed to get her there on his own, Aurora sat upon the crisp sheets of her canopied bed, clinging to her brother's hand as though her very life depended on it. He had remained silent after they had shut the door to her room behind them, choosing to settle her into a more comfortable pose rather than attempt to force her into idle conversation. But in the wake of her sudden decision to shift minutely, until her head had come to rest gently upon his shoulder, Aurora found that Regulus seemed capable of holding his silence no longer, his voice soft, but no less imploring as he squeezed her hand tightly in his own before he spoke.

"Does he know?"

"I don't-I don't think so," Aurora murmured, swallowing past the apprehension she felt over the thought of her intended discovering her secret, and the consequences it would invoke as a result, "He went to get you readily enough."

"I am not talking about Evan Rosier," Regulus spat, his distaste for the man his sister was to marry apparent in his tone, despite the fact that he knew, on some level, that speaking so harshly might only succeed in frightening Aurora even more than she already was, "I can't for the life of me fathom what Mother was thinking, forcing you into a match with him."

"She wants me to further the prospects of the family. My duty, she calls it, to be his perfect little wife, so that she can take the credit for my disposition."

"Seems to me it's more like selling you to the highest bidder."

"The thought had crossed my mind as well," Aurora confessed, her voice still holding a certain tremor, though she was pleased to note that her brother's steadfast presence at her side appeared to be keeping most of that at bay, "But if-if you aren't talking about him, Reg, who-who are you talking about?"

"I think you already know," Regulus said, aware of how Aurora seemed to tense at the suggestion inherent in his words, though she did not move to immediately deny the truth of them, herself, "You really are terrible at keeping secrets, Ro."

"I thought you did not like him."

"That doesn't mean I can't see he's still better for you than the man who is most likely flattering our mother downstairs in hopes that she will give him permission to check on you himself before he and his family depart."

"Do you really think that she will?"

"Answer my question honestly, and maybe I'll see that she doesn't."

Recognizing the offer for what it was, Aurora pursed her lips for a moment, her gaze searching her brother's expression for any sign of duplicity or ill intent. She wanted to trust him of course, every bit as much as she always had for as long as she could remember. But even in spite of that longing, something seemed to hold her back, cautioning her against disclosing too much, out of fear that it may be used against her, even if the person he told was not her mother, at all.

Aurora would have been a fool to pretend she was not comforted by her brother's seeming devotion to her as far as it had pertained to this holiday, but that did not mean she remained blind to where his loyalties had shifted to, whether she could comprehend such a decision or not.

She wanted to trust that Regulus would not betray her, but a lingering voice at the back of her mind still seemed determined to urge caution, regardless.

As though he seemed to sense her misgivings, Regulus opted for squeezing Aurora's hand once more, and caused her gaze to lock with his own once more in response. For a moment, the two of them simply remained silent, each gauging the other as though waiting for whatever tenuous truce had sprung up between them to fade away. And when it did not, Aurora determined that she might risk granting her brother the liberty of knowing he was right in his suspicions, a sigh escaping before she summoned the wherewithal to reply.

"He doesn't know. Not yet."

"And do you plan to tell him?"

"What would I say?" Aurora demanded, pulling back just a bit and withdrawing her hand from her brother's in favor of using that hand to tuck a stray curl back behind her ear, "That I'm-that I'm broken, somehow, and there's no way we can think of to fix it? That I-that I'm a monster?"

"You are not a monster."

"Tell that to our mother."

"You need to tell him, Ro," Regulus pressed, once again stubbornly bringing the subject of conversation back to the topic his sister seemed to wish most to avoid, "You need people to help you, when-when I can't."

"Meaning I need people to help when you are too busy doing the Dark Lord's bidding?"

"That's not fair."

"I know," The young woman agreed, hating herself for having even said the words at all, though she could not deny that the fear that they were true still held sway in her heart, "But I-I can't do this without you, Reg. And I-the idea of you? With him? It terrifies me."

"Just as the idea of you on your own with this terrifies me."

"But if I tell him-if I tell Barty, he will never see me in the same way again."

"And think of what will happen if you tell him nothing, and he hears from someone else," Regulus began, watching as his sister's expression tensed, the fear she felt at the prospect of what he suggested glinting in her dark eyes no matter how fiercely she tried to keep such a thing to herself, "I promise you, he will feel far worse if he discovers you kept this from him."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because no matter how little I may truly know Barty Crouch Jr, I do know that you may just be the only person in this world that he has any sort of genuine feeling for at all."

Biting her lower lip, and considering her brother's words as carefully as she could, Aurora soon discovered that she could find not even the slightest hints of deceit therein. Regulus was not attempting to simply appease her with words he did not truly mean. Not this time, anyway. And although she was still more than a little reluctant to dare to believe him completely, no matter how she might hate herself for that distrust in its truest sense, the young woman did as best she could to manage a simple nod, her resolve to be fully forthcoming with the man she really wished she could give her heart to suddenly strengthening, whether by her brother's will or her own, she could not tell.

At the very least she owed it to Barty to tell him of her engagement, and if the truth about all the rest came about in the meantime, then so be it.

If he truly loved her as much as he claimed, perhaps it would not matter at all.

…


End file.
